GIFT  OF 


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SCOTT,  FORESMAN  AND  COMPANY 

EDUCATIONAL  PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  CHICAGO 


GbeXafce  Enolisb  Classics 

EDITED  BY 

LINDSAY  TODD  DAMON,  A.B. 

Professor  of  English  Literature  and  Rhetoric  in 
Brown  University 


Hafee  Cnglfeft  Classics 


Thackeray's 

English  Humorists 

OF   THE 

Eighteenth  Century 


EDITED  AND  ANNOTATED  BY 

J.  W.  CUNLIFFE,  D.LiT. 

AND 

H.  A.  WATT,  PH.D. 

OF  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  WISCONSIN 


CHICAGO  NEW  YORK 

SCOTT,  FORESMAN  AND  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT  1911 
By  SCOTT,  FORESMAN  AND  COMPANY 


3/1 
T3(o 

J2J 

19  1  1 


PREFACE 


The  text  of  this  edition  is  founded  upon  a  careful  com- 
parison of  the  first  two  English  editions  (of  which  one 
of  the  editors  was  fortunate  enough  to  possess  copies) 
with  the  first  American  edition,  a  copy  of  which,  formerly 
belonging  to  Mr.  Andrew  D.  White,  was  very  kindly 
lent  by  the  Cornell  University  Library.  Hannay's  notes, 
which  were  appended  to  the  original  editions,  are  excluded 
as  unsuited  to  the  purpose  for  which  this  volume  is 
intended;  there  is  no  proof  that  Thackeray  had  any  hand 
in  their  preparation,  and  their  omission  gives  room  for 
explanatory  matter  very  much  more  to  the  purpose;  in 
the  one  or  two  cases  where  Hannay's  comments  seemed 
helpful,  they  have  been  retained,  and,  of  course,  duly 
acknowledged.  The  notes  in  this  volume  have  been  pre- 
pared by  Dr.  Watt,  who  wishes  to  acknowledge  his  obli- 
gations to  previous  editors;  for  the  introduction  I  am 
responsible;  the  text  we  did  together. 

J.  W.  CUNLIFFE. 

UNIVERSITY  OF  WISCONSIN. 
February,  1911. 


342019 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

INTRODUCTION 11 

LECTURE  THE  FIRST 
SWIFT 35 

LECTURE  THE  SECOND 
CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON 65 

LECTURE  THE  THIRD 
STEELE 92 

LECTURE  THE  FOURTH 
PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE   ........     128 

LECTURE  THE  FIFTH 
HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING    .      .      .      .     159 

LECTURE  THE  SIXTH 
STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH 185 

LECTURE  THE  SEVENTH 
CHARITY  AND  HUMOR     ........     217 


NOTES 239 

* 

9 


THACKERAY 

Thackeray  belonged,  as  one  of  his  English  biographers 
says,  to  "  quite  the  upper  middle  class."  Family  tradition 
gave  his  original  namesake,  William  Makepeace,  a  place 
among  the  Protestant  martyrs  of  the  reign  of  Queen  Mary. 
His  great  grand-father  was  a  fellow  of  King's  College, 
Cambridge,  and  headmaster  of  Harrow.  Both  his  grand- 
fathers were  in  the  service  of  the  East  India  Company; 
so  was  his  father;  and  it  was  at  Calcutta  that  he  himself 
was  born  on  July  18,  1811.  His  father  died  when  he  was 
four  years  old,  and  when  he  was  six  he  was  sent  to  Eng- 
land to  be  educated.  One  of  his  earliest  recollections  was 
of  landing  at  the  island  of  St.  Helena  on  the  voyage,  and 
seeing  Napoleon  I,  who  was  imprisoned  there: 

My  black  servant  took  me  a  long  walk  over  rocks  and  hills 
until  we  reached  a  garden,  where  we  saw  a  man  walking.  "That 
is  he,"  said  the  black  man ;  "that  is  Bonaparte !  He  eats  three 
sheep  every  day,  and  all  the  little  children  he  can  lay  hands  on." 
(Thackeray's  Lecture  on  George  III.) 

The  little  boy  lived  for  a  while  near  London  with  his 
aunt,  who  was  alarmed  to  find  that  he  could  wear  her 
husband's  hat.  She  took  him  to  a  celebrated  London 
physician,  who  reassured  her,  saying:  "  He  has  a  large 
head,,  but  there's  a  good  deal  in  it."  His  brain,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  was  of  unusual  size,  but  he  gave  little  evidence 
of  this  either  at  the  school  he  first  attended  at  Chiswick 
Mall  (probably  described  as  "Miss  Pinkerton's  academy 
for  young  ladies  "  in  the  first  chapter  of  Vanity  Fair)  or 
at  Charterhouse,  to  which  he  was  sent  when  his  mother 

11 


1>  INTRODUCTION 

returned  from  India  with  her  second  husband,  Major 
Carmichael  Smyth,  in  1822.  Thackeray  was  neither 
happy  nor  successful  at  the  great  London  public  school, 
though  he  came  in  after-life  to  look  back  on  it  with  warm 
affection,  and  often  described  it  in  his  novels.  He  was 
not  distinguished  either  at  sports  or  at  studies,  but  was 
popular  among  his  schoolfellows  for  his  kindly  disposition 
and  his  faculty  for  making  humorous  verses  and  drawings. 
In  1828,  to  his  own  great  relief,  he  left  Charterhouse,  and 
early  the  next  year  entered  Trinity  College,  Cambridge, 
where  he  led  the  same  "lazy  but  pleasant  and  '  gentle- 
manlike '  life  "  he  would  have  adopted  at  school,  but  for 
his  terror  of  the  headmaster.  Dr.  Thompson,  afterwards 
Master  of  Trinity,  who  was  an  undergraduate  with 
Thackeray,  says  that  "  though  careless  of  university  dis- 
tinction, he  had  a  vivid  appreciation  of  English  poetry, 
and  chanted  the  praises  of  the  old  English  novelists,  espe- 
cially his  model,  Fielding.  He  had  always  a  flow  of 
humor  and  pleasantry,  and  was  made  much  of  by  his 
friends.  At  supper-parties,  though  not  talkative  —  rather 
observant  —  he  enjoyed  the  humors  of  the  hour,  and  sang 
one  or  two  old  songs  with  great  applause."  Probably 
Thackeray's  greatest  gain  from  his  college  days  lay  in  the 
friendships  he  formed  —  some  of  them,  as  with  Tennyson 
and  Fitzgerald,  the  translator  of  Omar  Khayyam,  lasting 
all  through  his  life.  He  contributed  to  a  little  university 
paper,  called  The  Snob,  a  parody  on  the  subject  of  Tenny- 
son's prize  poem  Timbuctoo,  and  other  skits.  He  formed 
"  strong  resolutions  "  to  begin  a  more  regular  course  of 
reading  "  to-morrow,"  and  wrote  to  his  mother:  "I 
have  some  thoughts  of  writing,  for  a  college  prize,  an 


INTRODUCTION  13 

English  essay  on  '  The  influence  of  the  Homeric  Poems 
on  the  Religion,  the  Politics,  the  Literature  and  Society 
of  Greece,'  but  it  will  require  much  reading,  which  I  fear 
I  have  not  time  to  bestow  on  it."  These  good  resolutions 
came  to  nothing,  and  after  two  years'  residence  Thackeray 
left  Cambridge  without  a  degree. 

After  a  continental  tour  Thackeray  settled  for  a  while 
at  Weimar  to  study  German  literature.  He  enjoyed  the 
society  of  the  "  dear  little  Saxon  city  "  and  won  his  way 
by  his  kindly  manners  and  love  of  children,  for  whom  he 
delighted  to  draw  funny  pictures.  Some  of  these  attracted 
the  notice  of  Goethe,  the  grand  patriarch  of  European 
letters,  then  eighty-one  years  of  age.  A  quarter  of  a 
century  later  Thackeray  wrote  the  following  description 
of  the  interview : 

Of  course  I  remember  very  well  the  perturbation  of  spirit  with 
which,  as  a  lad  of  nineteen,  I  received  the  long-expected  intima- 
tion that  the  Herr  Geheimerath  would  see  me  on  such  a  morning. 
This  notable  audience  took  place  in  a  little  ante-chamber  of  his 
private  apartments,  covered  all  round  with  antique  casts  and  bas 
reliefs.  He  was  habited  in  a  long  gray  or  drab  redingot,  with  a 
white  neckcloth,  and  a  red  ribbon  in  his  buttonhole.  He  kept  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  just  as  in  Rauch's  statuette.  His  com- 
plexion was  very  bright,  clear  and  rosy.  His  eyes  extraordinarily 
dark,  piercing  and  brilliant.  I  felt  quite  afraid  before  them,  and 
recollect  comparing  them  to  the  eyes  of  the  hero  of  a  certain 
romance  called  Melnoth,  the  Wanderer,  which  used  to  alarm  us 
boys  thirty  years  ago ;  eyes  of  an  individual  who  had  made  a  bar- 
gain with  a  Certain  Person,  and  at  an  extreme  old  age  retained 
these  eyes  in  all  their  awful  splendor.  I  fancied  Goethe  must 
have  been  still  more'  handsome  as  an  old  man  than  even  in  the 
tiays  of  his  youth.  His  voice  was  very  rich  and  sweet.  He  asked 
rue  questions  about  myself,  which  I  answered  as  best  I  could.  I 


14  INTRODUCTION 

recollect  I  was  at  first  astonished,  and  then  somewhat  relieved, 
when  I  found  he  spoke  French  with  not  a  good  accent. 

Though  his  sun  was  setting,  the  sky  round  about  was  calm  and 
bright,  and  that  little  Weimar  illumined  by  it.  In  every  one  of 
those  kind  salons  the  talk  was  still  of  art  and  letters.  The  theater, 
though  possessing  no  very  extraordinary  actors,  was  still  conducted 
with  a  noble  intelligence  and  order.  The  actors  read  books,  and 
were  men  of  letters  and  gentlemen,  holding  a  not  unkindly  rela- 
tionship with  the  Adel  [the  Nobility].  At  Court  the  conversation 
was  exceedingly  friendly*  simple  and  polished.  The  Grand 
Duchess  (the  present  Grand  Duchess  Dowager),  a  lady  of  very 
remarkable  endowments,  would  kindly  borrow  our  books  from  us, 
lend  us  her  own,  and  graciously  talk  to  us  young  men  about  our 
literary  tastes  and  pursuits.  In  the  respect  paid  by  this  Court  to 
the  Patriarch  of  letters,  there  was  something  ennobling,  I  think, 
alike  to  the  subject  and  sovereign.  With  a  five-and-twenty  years' 
experience  since  those  happy  days  of  which  I  write,  and  an 
acquaintance  with  an  immense  variety  of  humankind,  I  think  I 
have  never  seen  a  society  more  simple,  charitable,  courteous,  gen- 
tlemanlike, than  that  of  the  dear  little  Saxon  city  where  the  good 
Schiller  and  the  great  Goethe  lived  and  lie  buried. 

Thackeray  had  at  this  time  some  notion  of  preparing 
himself  for  the  diplomatic  service  —  a  scheme  that  was 
soon  abandoned.  He  did  not  take  any  more  kindly  to 
preparation^  for  the  law,  which  he  found  "  one  of  the  most 
cold-blooded,  prejudiced  pieces  of  invention  that  ever  a 
man  was  slave  to,"  and  as  soon  as  he  came  of  age  he  gave 
that  up  too.  His  next  venture  was  in  journalism,  on  the 
staff  of  The  National  Standard  and  Journal  of  Literature, 
Science,  Music,  Theatricals,  and  the  Fine  Arts,  owned  in 
part  by  his  stepfather,  Major  Carmichael  Smyth,  whom 
he  greatly  admired  and  took  later  as  a  model  for  his  most 
lovable  character,  Colonel  Newcome.  Thackeray  became 
editor  and  proprietor  of  the  paper,  which  soon  came  to  a 


INTRODUCTION  15 

disastrous  end ;  he  lost  part  of  his  small  fortune  in  it,  and 
the  rest  went  in  equally  rash  speculations  about  the  same 
time.  While  acting  as  Paris  correspondent  of  the 
National  Standard,  he  had  serious  thoughts  of  turning 
artist;  but  his  marriage  in  1836  made  it  necessary  for  him 
to  earn  his  living,  and  journalism  was  his  only  practical 
resource.  He  had  already  begun  to  contribute  to  Eraser's 
Magazine,  one  of  the  leading  periodicals  of  the  day;  he 
also  wrote  for  the  London  Times  and  the  New  York 
Corsair.  His  first  novel,  the  Shabby  Genteel  Story  (for 
Catherine  is  a  mere  satirical  extravaganza)  was  running 
in  Fraser  in  1840,  when  it  was  cut  short  at  the  ninth 
chapter  by  the.  illness  of  his  wife,  whose  mind  gave  way 
after  a  fever.  She  never  recovered,  and  Thackeray,  not 
yet  thirty  years  old,  was  left  virtually  a  widower,  with 
two  little  girls  to  look  after.  His  life  was  permanently 
saddened,  for  he  was  a  man  of  strong  domestic  affections, 
but  he  did  not  repine.  Many  years  after,  he  wrote  to  a 
young  friend  about  to  be  married : 

I  married  at  your  age,  with  <£400,  paid  by  a  newspaper  which 
failed  six  months  afterwards,  and  always  love  to  hear  of  a  young 
fellow  testing  his  fortune  bravely  in  that  way.  If  I  can  see  my 
way  to  help  you,  I  will.  Though  my  marriage  was  a  wreck,  as 
k  you  know,  I  would  do  it  over  again,  for  behold,  Love  is  the  crown 
and  completion  of  all  earthly  good. 

The  Great  Hoggarty  Diamond,  published  in  Fraser  in 
1841,  was  appreciated  by  the  critics,  if  not  by  the  public, 
and  in  the  same  year  an  opportunity  was  opened  for 
Thackeray's  satirical  genius  by  the  foundation  of  the  great 
English  comic  paper,  Punch,  to  which  he  contributed  for 
many  years,  both  with  pen  and  pencil.  Barry  Lyndon, 
published  in  Fraser  in  1844,  is  now  acknowledged  to  be 


16  INTRODUCTION 

his  first  great  novel,  but  at  the  time  public  recognition 
came  slowly;  in  1845,  the  editor  of  the  Edinburgh  Review 
could  still  write  to  one  of  his  contributors : 

Will  you  tell  me,  confidentially  of  course,  whether  you  know 
anything  of  a  Mr.  Thackeray,  about  whom  Longman  has  written 
me,  thinking  he  would  be  a  good  hand  for  light  articles?  He 
(Longman)  says  that  this  Mr.  Thackeray  is  one  of  the  best  writers 
in  Punch.  One  requires  to  be  very  much  on  one's  guard  in  engag- 
ing with  mere  strangers.  In  a  journal  like  the  Edinbro'  it  is 
always  of  importance  to  keep  up  in  respect  of  names. 

Whatever  may  be  the  cause,  Thackeray's  biographers 
have  had  to  admit  that  in  1846  he  was  unknown  except  to 
the  critics  and  his  own  intimate  friends.  His  long  struggle 
affords  a  remarkable  contrast  to  the  immediate  success  of 
his  great  contemporary  and  rival,  Dickens,  who  was  born 
a  year  later  and  whose  Pickwick  Papers  (1836),  Thack- 
eray, when  he  was  still  hesitating  between  the  pen  and  the 
pencil,  offered  (in  vain)  to  illustrate.  It  was  not  until 
1847-8  that  the  publication  of  Vanity  Fair  placed  Thack- 
eray in  a  position  of  acknowledged  preeminence,  and  made 
him  independent  of  the  periodicals.  Pendennis  (1848-50), 
although  it  takes  rank  among  Thackeray's  great  novels,  has 
weak  places,  due  no  doubt  to  the  fact  that  it  was  written 
under  the  strain  of  severe  illness ;  it  was  not  a  popular  suc- 
cess, and  Thackeray  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  add  to 
his  income  by  a  course  of  lectures,  given  in  London  in  the 
spring  of  1851,  on  The  English  Humorists  of  the 
Eighteenth  Century.  Among  his  hearers  were  Carlyle, 
Dickens,  Macaulay,  Charlotte  Bronte,  and  other  notabili- 
ties, and  the  series  was  so  successful  that  it  was  repeated 
in  various  parts  of  Great  Britain.  In  November,,  1851, 
he  wrote  to  a  friend :  "  I  am  going  to  take  these  lectures 


INTRODUCTION  17 

to  America,  and  to  make  a  little  fortune  out  of  them,  I 
hope,  for  my  Kttle  people."  As  soon  as  Esmond  was  pub- 
lished, in  October,  1852,  Thackeray  left  Liverpool  for 
Boston,  the  three  volumes  of  the  novel  being  placed  in  his 
hands  just  as  the  vessel  sailed. 

Thackeray  looked  forward  to  the  voyage  with  a  fearful- 
ness  which  seems  almost  laughable  in  these  days  of  safe 
and  speedy  transatlantic  travel ;  but  he  found  it  not  so  bad 
as  he  had  expected,  and  on  his  arrival  in  the  United  States 
he  was  touched  by  the  genuine  kindness  and  cordiality  of 
his  reception.  Below  are  given  two  extracts  from  letters 
he  sent  home,  the  first  from  New  York,  the  second  from 
Baltimore : 

I  didn't  expect  to  like  the  people  as  I  do,  but  am  agreeably  dis- 
appointed, and  find  many  most  pleasant  companions,  natural  and 
good;  natural  and  well  read,  and  well  bred,  too;  and  I  suppose 
am  none  the  worse  pleased  because  everybody  has  read  all  my 

books  and  praises  my  lectures Nobody  is  quiet  here, 

no  more  am  I.  The  rush  and  restlessness  pleases  me,  and  I  like, 
for  a  little,  the  dash  of  the  stream. 

Now  I  have  seen  three  great  cities — Boston,  New  York,  and 
Philadelphia.  I  think  I  like  them  all  mighty  well.  They  seem 
to  me  not  so  civilized  as  our  London,  but  more  so  than  Manchester 
and  Liverpool.  At  Boston  is  a  very  good  literate  company, 
indeed ;  it  is  like  Edinburgh  for  that — a  vast  amount  of  Toryism 
and  donnishness  everywhere.  That  of  New  York  the  simplest  and 
least  pretentious;  it  suffices  that  a  man  should  keep  a  fine  house, 
give  parties,  and  have  a  daughter,  to  get  all  the  world  to  him. 

When  Mr.  W.  B.  Reed,  of  Philadelphia,  with  whom  he 
made  a  lasting  friendship,  asked  him  what  were  his  impres- 
sions of  the  States,  he  answered : 

You  know  what  a  virtue-proud  people  we  English  are.  We 
think  we  have  got  it  all  to  ourselves.  Now  that  which  most 


18  INTRODUCTION 

impresses  me  here  is  that  I  find  homes  as  pure  as  ours,  firesides 
like  ours,  domestic  virtues  as  gentle  ;  the  English  language, 
though  the  accent  be  a  little  different,  with  its  home-like  melody; 
and  the  Common  Prayer  Book  in  your  families.  I  am  more 
struck  by  pleasant  resemblances  than  by  anything  else. 

One  of  the  incidents  of  the  great  novelist's  journey  from 
Boston  to  New  York  is  told  by  Thackeray  himself  in  a 
letter  written  to  a  Brooklyn  boy  who  asked  for  his  auto- 


N.  York.     Sunday  Dec.  19  (1852). 

My  Dear  Sir,  —  I  have  very  great  pleasure  in  sending  you  my 
signature  ;  and  am  never  more  grateful  than  when  I  hear  honest 
boys  like  my  books.  I  remember  the  time  when  I  was  a  boy  very 
well  ;  and,  now  that  I  have  children  of  my  own,  love  young  peo- 
ple all  the  better;  and  hope  some  day  that  I  shall  be  able  to  speak 
to  them  more  directly  than  hitherto  I  have  done.  But  by  that  time 
you  will  be  a  man,  and  I  hope  will  prosper. 

As  I  got  into  the  railroad  car  to  come  hither  from  Boston  there 
came  up  a  boy  with  a  basket  of  books  to  sell,  and  he  offered  me 
one  and  called  out  my  own  name:  and  I  bought  the  book,  pleased 
by  his  kind  face  and  friendly  voice  which  seemed  as  it  were  to 
welcome  me  and  my  own  children  to  this  country.  And  as  you  are 
the  first  American  boy  who  has  written  to  me  I  thank  you  and 
shake  you  by  the  hand,  and  hope  Heaven  may  prosper  you.  We 
who  write  books  must  remember  that  among  our  readers  are 
honest  children,  and  pray  the  Father  of  all  of  us  to  enable  us  to 
see  and  speak  the  Truth.  Love  and  Truth  are  the  best  of  all  : 
pray  God  that  young  and  old  we  may  try  and  hold  by  them.  * 

I  thought  to  write  you  only  a  line  this  Sunday  morning;  but 
you  see  it  is  a  little  sermon.  My  own  children  thousands  of  miles 
away  (it  is  Sunday  night  now  where  they  are,  and  they  said 
their  prayers  for  me  whilst  I  was  asleep)  will  like  some  day  to 
sec  your  little  note  and  be  grateful  for  the  kindness  you  and 
others  show  me.  I  bid  you  farewell  and  am 

Your  faithful  Servant, 

W.  M.  THACKERAY.* 

*From  J.  G.  Wilson's  Thackeray  in  the  United  States. 


INTRODUCTION  19 

Thackeray  made  a  favorable  impression,  both  on  those 
who  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet  him  socially,  and  on 
the  larger  number  who  only  heard  him  lecture.  Of  his 
personal  appearance  Mr.  T.  C.  Evans  wrote: 

Thackeray  looked  like  a  gentleman  laid  out  by  Nature  on  broad 
and  generous  lines:  his  head  large,  and  thrown  slightly  backward 
from  his  broad,  erect  shoulders:  he  had  a  fresh,  clean-shaven  look, 
his  face  rather  pale,  but  with  a  trace  of  color.  His  hair  was  a 
trifle  grayish ;  a  British  whisker,  also  grayish,  ran  down  in  front 
of  each  ear  to  his  collar;  his  spectacles  were  large  and  insistent, 
and  his  nose  more  depressed  than  that  of  Michael  Angelo  after 
the  mallet  blow  of  Torrigiano.  His  gait  and  movement  were 
free  and  swinging,  his  dress  was  of  notable  neatness  and  gen- 
tility, and  his  glance  seemed  to  annex  and  appropriate  everything 
it  fell  on. 

William  Cullen  Bryant,  reporting  the  first  lecture  in 
the  New  York  Evening  Post,  said:  "  The  building  was 
crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity  with  the  celebrities  of  litera- 
ture and  fashion  in  this  metropolis,  all  of  whom,,  we 
believe,  left,  perfectly  united  in  the  opinion  that  they  never 
remembered  to  have  spent  an  hour  more  delightfully  in 
their  lives."  G.  W.  Curtis,  looking  back  upon  the  lectures 
in  after  years,  exclaims : 

Who  that  heard  is  likely  to  forget  them?  His  huge  figure 
filled  the  pulpit,  and  the  desk  was  raised  so  that  he  could  easily 
read  his  manuscript.  He  stood  erect  and  perfectly  still :  his  hands 
thrust  into  his  trousers'  pockets,  or  the  thumbs  and  forefingers 
into  the  waistcoat  pockets,  and  in  that  deep,  melodious  and 
flexible  voice  he  read  his  essays.  No  purely  literary  lectures  were 
ever  half  so  interesting.  As  he  moved  on,  his  felicitous  skill 
flashed  out  the  living  form  of  each  man  he  described  like  a  torch 
upon  a  statue.  Probably  most  of  those  who  heard  him  will 
always  owe  their  impression  of  Fielding,  Goldsmith,  Addison, 
Swift,  Pope,  Congreve,  and  Dick  Steele  to  Thackeray's  lectures. 


20  INTRODUCTION 

Thackeray  was  deeply  affected  by  the  appreciation  of  his 
New  York  hearers,  and  at  the  conclusion  of  the  course 
added  the  following  words  of  acknowledgment : 

In  England  it  was  my  custom,  after  the  delivery  of  these  lec- 
tures, to  point  such  a  moral  as  seemed  to  befit  the  country  I  lived 
in,  and  to  protest  against  an  outcry,  which  some  brother  authors 
of  mine  most  imprudently  and  unjustly  raise,  when  they  say  that 
our  profession  is  neglected  and  its  professors  held  in  light  esteem. 
Speaking  in  this  country,  I  would  say  that  such  a  complaint  could 
not  only  not  be  advanced,  but  could  not  be  even  understood  here, 
where  your  men  of  letters  take  their  manly  share  in  public  life ; 
whence  Mr.  Everett  goes  as  Minister  to  Washington,  and  Ban- 
croft and  Irving  to  represent  the  republic  in  the  old  country.  And 
if  to  English  authors  the  English  public  is,  as  I  believe,  kind 
and  just  in  the  main,  can  any  of  us  say,  will  any  who  visit  your 
country  not  proudly  and  gratefully  own,  with  what  a  cordial  and 
generous  greeting  you  receive  us?  I  look  round  on  this  great 
company.  I  think  of  my  gallant  young  patrons  of  the  Mercantile 
Library  Association,  as  whose  servant  I  appear  before  you,  and 
of  the  kind  hands  stretched  out  to  welcome  me  by  men  famous 
in  letters  and  honored  in  our  country  as  in  their  own,  and  I 
thank  you  and  them  for  a  most  kindly  greeting  and  a  most  gener- 
ous hospitality.  At  home,  and  amongst  his  own  people,  it  scarce 
becomes  an  English  writer  to  speak  of  himself;  his  public  esti- 
mation must  depend  upon  his  works;  his  private  esteem  on  his 
character  and  his  life.  But  here  among  friends  newly  found,  I 
ask  leave  to  say  that  I  am  thankful ;  and  I  think  with  a  grateful 
heart  of  those  I  leave  behind  me  at  home,  who  will  be  proud  of 
the  welcome  you  hold  out  to  me,  and  will  benefit,  please  God, 
when  my  days  of  work  are  over,  by  the  kindness  which  you  show 
to  their  father. 

As  a  result  of  the  lectures  in  New  York  and  Brooklyn, 
Thackeray  was  able  to  deposit  five  thousand  dollars  with 
his  New  York  bankers,  and  an  extra  lecture  on  Charity 
and  Humor  (included  in  this  edition)  realized  over  a 


INTRODUCTION  21 

thousand  dollars  for  a  New  York  charity.  The  lectures 
were  proportionately  successful  in  Boston,  Philadelphia, 
and  the  other  large  cities  Thackeray  visited,  but  in  the 
end  the  prolonged  round  of  hospitality  made  him  melan- 
choly and  homesick.  In  January,  he  wrote  home  from 
Philadelphia: 

O !  I  am  tired  of  shaking  hands  with  people,  and  acting  the  lion 
business  night  after  night.  Everybody  is  introduced  and  shakes 
hands.  I  know  thousands  of  colonels,  professors,  editors,  and 
what  not,  and  walk  the  streets  guiltily,  knowing  that  I  don't 
know  'em,  and  trembling  lest  the  man  opposite  to  me  is  one  of  my 
friends  of  the  day  before. 

In  April,  he  was  in  New  York  again,  projecting  a 
Canadian  tour,  but  the  advertisement  of  a  liner  one  morn- 
ing proved  a  temptation  too  strong  to  be  resisted,  and, 
bidding  a  hasty  farewell  to  his  friends,  he  sailed  that 
very  day. 

His  next  important  publication,  The  Rose  and  the  Ring 
(1854),  was  begun  to  amuse  a  little  American  girl,  the 
daughter  of  William  Wetmore  Story,  during  her  illness 
at  Rome ;  but  the  main  occupation  of  the  two  years  imme- 
diately following  the  first  American  tour  was  his  great 
novel,  The  Neivcomes,  begun  at  Baden  in  the  summer  of 
1853  and  finished  at  Paris  in  June,  1855.  A  reference 
in  the  second  chapter  of  the  story  to  Washington's  Ameri- 
can soldiers  as  "  rebels  "  gave  offence,  and  Thackeray 
wrote  to  the  Athen&um  to  explain  himself,  pointing  out 
that  in  England  the  Americans  were  called  rebels  during 
the  whole  of  that  contest,  and  adding: 

Rebels !  of  course  they  were  rebels ;  and  I  should  like  to  know 
what  native  American  would  not  have  been  a  rebel  in  that  cause. 


22  INTRODUCTION 

As  irony  is  dangerous,  and  has  hurt  the  feelings  of  kind  friends 
whom  I  would  not  wish  to  offend,  let  me  say,  in  perfect  faith  and 
gravity,  that  I  think  the  cause  for  which  Washington  fought 
entirely  just  and  right,  and  the  Champion  the  very  noblest,  pur- 
est, bravest,  best  of  God's  men. 

In  the  spring  of  1855  Thackeray  repeated  in  London 
his  New  York  lecture  on  Chanty  and  Humor,  and  the 
generous  reference  at  the  close  to  Dickens  was  as  gener- 
ously acknowledged  by  his  great  contemporary: 

[London]    March   23,    1855. 

My  dear  Thackeray, — I  have  read  in  the  "Times"  to-day  an 
account  of  your  last  night's  lecture,  and  cannot  refrain  from 
assuring  you,  in  all  truth  and  earnestness,  that  I  am  profoundly 
touched  by  your  generous  reference  to  me.  I  do  not  know  how 
to  tell  you  what  a  glow  it  spread  over  my  heart.  Out  of  its 
fulness  I  do  entreat  you  to  believe  that  I  shall  never  forget  your 
words  of  commendation.  If  you  could  wholly  know  at  once  how 
you  have  moved  me  and  how  you  have  animated  me,  you  would 
be  the  happier,  I  am  certain. 

Faithfully  yours  ever, 

CHARLES  DICKENS. 

In  the  fall  of  1855  Thackeray  paid  his  second  visit  to 
this  country,  to  deliver  his  lectures  on  The  Four  Georges. 
Unlike  the  first  course,  which  had  been  previously  deliv- 
ered in  England,  these  lectures  were  intended  for  the 
United  States,  and  finished  in  New  York.  Thackeray 
repeated  at  this  second  visit  his  former  triumphs,  social 
and  literary;  he  was  warmly  welcomed  by  his  old  friends 
and  made  many  new  ones.  A  characteristic  incident  of 
this  second  lecture-tour  is  thus  related  by  his  friend  Reed : 

On  his  return  to  Philadelphia,  in  the  spring  of  1856,  from  the 
south  and  west,  a  number  of  his  friends — I  as  much  as  anyone — 


INTRODUCTION  23 

urged  him,  unwisely  as  it  turned  out,  to  repeat  his  lectures  on 
"The  Humorists."  He  was  very  loath  to  do  it,  but  finally  yielded, 
being,  I  doubt  not,  somewhat  influenced  by  the  pecuniary  induce- 
ments accidentally  held  out  to  him.  A  young  bookseller  of  this 
city  offered  him  a  round  sum — not  very  large,  but,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, quite  liberal,  for  the  course — which  he  accepted.  The 
experiment  was  a  failure.  It  was  late  in  the  season,  with  long 
days  and  shortening  nights,  and  the  course  was  a  stale  one,  and 
the  lectures  had  been  printed,  and  the  audiences  were  thin,  and 
the  bargain  was  disastrous,  not  to  him,  but  to  the  young  gentle- 
man who  had  ventured  it.  We  were  all  disappointed  and  morti- 
fied; but  Thackeray  took  it  good-humoredly ;  the  only  thing  that 
seemed  to  disturb  him  being  his  sympathy  with  the  man  of  busi- 
ness. "I  don't  mind  the  empty  benches,  but  I  cannot  bear  to  see 
that  sad,  pale-faced  young  man  as  I  come  out,  who  is  losing 
money  on  my  account."  This  he  used  to  say  at  my  house  when 
he  came  home  to  a  frugal  and  not  very  cheerful  supper  after  the 
lecture.  Still  the  bargain  had  been  fairly  made,  and  was  honor- 
ably complied  with;  and  the  money  was  paid  and  remitted, 
through  my  agency,  to  him  at  New  York.  I  received  no  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  remittance,  and  recollect  well  that  I  felt  not  a 
little  annoyed  at  this;  the  more  so  when,  on  picking  up  a  news- 
paper, I  learned  that  Thackeray  had  sailed  for  home.  The  day 
after  he  had  gone,  when  there  could  be  no  refusal,  I  received  a 
certificate  of  deposit  on  his  New  York  bankers  for  an  amount 
quite  sufficient  to  meet  any  loss  incurred,  as  he  thought,  on  his 
behalf. 

In  the  same  spirit,  during  his  first  tour,  Thackeray 
insisted  on  returning  half  his  fee  at  Providence,  where 
the  attendance  was  small.  He  wrote  home :  "  Nobody 
must  lose  money  by  me  in  America,  where  I  have  had 
such  a  welcome  and  hospitality." 

Thackeray's  second  visit  to  America  had  important 
consequences  for  his  life  and  work.  He  conceived  and 
gathered  material  for  his  next  novel,  The  Virginians, 


24  INTRODUCTION 

which  was  completed  after  his  return  and  published  in 
•1857-9.  The  radical  views  expressed  in  The  Four 
Georges  excited  some  surprise  in  England,  but  Thackeray 
did  not  hesitate  to  repeat  the  lectures  "  straight  out  from 
the  American  MS."  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  always 
held  advanced  political  opinions.  As  early  as  1844  he 
wrote  to  his  mother: 

We  are  all  agog  about  the  adhesion  of  Lord  John  and  Lord 
Morpeth  to  the  Corn  Laws.  Peel  is  to  go  out,  they  say,  and 
Whigs  resume  sway.  What  a  lick-spittle  of  a  country  it  is,  where 
a  couple  of  lords  who  have  held  aloof  from  the  corn-law  battle, 
calmly  step  in  at  the  end  of  it,  head  the  party,  and  take  all  the 
prize  money!  What  a  fine  fellow  Cobden  is.  His  speech  in 
to-day's  paper  is  a  model  of  oratory,  I  think ;  so  manly,  clear, 
and  upright. 

Of  the  money  Thackeray  made  by  his  lectures  (about 
fifty  thousand  dollars,  more  than  half  of  it  in  the  United 
States),  he  spent  part  in  contesting  the  city  of  Oxford 
for  parliament  in  the  Liberal  interest  —  unsuccessfully,  to 
the  great  relief  of  his  friends. 

The  closing  chapter  of  Thackeray's  life  may  be  very 
briefly  told.  In  1860  he  found  a  new  interest  in  editing, 
with  remarkable  success,  the  newly  founded  Cornhill 
Magazine,  for  which  he  wrote  two  novels,  Lovel  the 
Widower  and  The  Adventures  of  Philip,  as  well  as  The 
Roundabout  Papers,  which  contain  some  of  his  best  occa- 
sional essays.  But  he  was  too  soft-hearted  to  reject  con- 
tributions from  deserving  but  incompetent  contributors, 
to  whom  he  sent  money  out  of  his  own  pocket  rather  than 
disappoint  them ;  and  he  was  glad  to  hand  over  the  cares 
of  editorship  to  his  son-in-law,  Leslie  Stephen,  in  order  to 


INTRODUCTION  25 

devote  all  his  energies  to  his  last  novel,  Denis  Duval,  in 

which  he  seemed  to  be  recovering  his  old  verve  and  skill. 

3ut  it  was  still  unfinished  when,  on  Christmas  Eve,  1863, 

he  great  novelist  was  found  dead  in  bed.     His  death  at 

his   season    recalled    to   many   of   his   admirers   his   own 

Christmas  lines : 

My  song,  save  this,  is  little  worth; 

I  lay  the  weary  pen  aside, 
And  wish  you  health,  and  love,  and  mirth, 

As  fits  the  solemn  Christmas-tide, 
As  fits  the  holy  Christmas  birth. 

Be  this,  good  friends,  our  carol  still, — 
Be  peace  on  earth,  be  peace  on  earth, 

To  men  of  gentle  will ! 


II 


The  satirical  bent  of  Thackeray's  genius  made  him 
much  misunderstood.  Early  disappointments,  domestic 
calamity,  and  persistent  ill-health  saddened  his  life,  and 
his  keen  insight  into  character  prevented  him  from  accept- 
ing the  superficial  views  of  human  benevolence  which 
often  pass  current  in  the  world.  j_But  he  was  essentially 
kind-hearted,  and  of  an  affectionate  disposition.;  Many 
stories  are  told  of  his  unfailing  and  considerate  generosity 
to  people  in  distress;  and  his  devotion  to  children  in  gen- 
eral —  and  to  his  own  in  particular  —  was  often 
remarked.  Mr.  Hodder,  who  accompanied  Thackeray 
on  his  second  American  tour  as  his  secretary,  bears  wit- 
ness to  the  difficulty  with  which  the  great  novelist 
restrained  his  emotion  on  parting  from  his  twTo  daugh- 


26  INTRODUCTION 

ters.  His  "  girls,"  as  he  used  to  call  them,  were  con- 
stantly in  his  thoughts;  and  it  was  to  making  provision 
for  them  that  all  the  efforts  of  his  later  life  were  directed. 
In  one  of  his  best  poems,  The  White  Squall,  he  wrote : 

And  when,  its  force  expended, 
The  harmless  storm  was  ended, 
And  as  the  sunrise  splendid 

Came  blushing  o'er' the  sea, 
I  thought,  as  day  was  breaking, 
My  little  girls  were  waking, 
And  smiling,  and  making 

A  prayer  at  home  for  me. 

Thackeray  was  a  sincerely  religious  man,  as  many 
passages  in  his  writings  show.  The  year  before  he  died, 
on  moving  into  a  new  house  he  had  built,  he  entered  in 
his  diary  this  prayer : 

I  pray  Almighty  God  that  the  words  I  write  in  this  house  may 
be  pure  and  honest;  that  they  may  be  dictated  by  no  personal 
spite,  unworthy  motive,  or  unjust  greed  for  gain;  that  they  may 
tell  the  truth  as  far  as  I  know  it;  and  tend  to  promote  love  and 
peace  amongst  men,  for  the  sake  of  Christ  our  Lord. 

Thackeray  had  many  friends,  and  those  who  knew  him 
best  were  the  first  to  resent  the  charge  of  cynicism  some- 
times urged  against  him.  It  was  this  baseless  charge 
which  was  answered  at  the  time  of  his  death  by  one  of 
his  old  comrades  on  the  staff  of  Punch: 

He  was  a  cynic:  by  his  life  all  wrought 

Of  generous  acts,  mild  words,  and  gentle  ways; 

His  heart  wide  open  to  all  kindly  thought, 

His  hand  so  quick  to  give,  his  tongue  to  praise. 


INTRODUCTION  27 

He  was  a  cynic:  you  might  read  it  writ 

In  that  broad  brow,  crowned  with  its  silver  hair; 

In  those  blue  eyes,  with  childlike  candor  lit, 
In  that  sweet  smile  his  lips  were  wont  to  wear. 

He  was  a  cynic:  by  the  love  that  clung 

About  him  from  his  children,  friends  and  kin: 

By  the  sharp  pain  light  pen  and  gossip  tongue 
Wrought  in  him,  chafing  the  soft  heart  within. 

He  was  a  cynic :  let  his  books  confess — 

His  Dobbin's  silent  love;  or  yet  more  rare, 

His  Newcome's  chivalry  and  simpleness; 
His  Little  Sister's  life  of   loving  care. 

Through   Vanity's  bright  flaunting  fair   he  walked,    ' 
Making  the  puppets  dance,  the  jugglers  play; 

Saw  Virtue  tripping,  honest  effort  balked, 

And  sharpened  wit  on  roguery's  downward  way; 

And  told  us  what  he  saw;  and  if  he  smiled, 
His  smile  had  more  of  sadness  than  of  mirth — 

But  more  of  love  than  either.     Undefiled, 
Gentle,  alike  by  accident  of  birth, 

And  gift  of  courtesy  and  grace  of  love, 

When  shall  his  friends  find  such  another  friend? 

For  them,  and  for  his  children,  God  above 

Has  comfort.     Let  us  bow:  God  knows  the  end. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Thackeray  was,  as  a  French  critic 
pointed  out  long  ago,  less  of  a  cynic  than  a  sentimentalist 
in  the  better  sense  of  the  word  —  that  is,  he  had  more 
than  usual  sympathy  for  innocence,  and  goodness,  —  and 
he  would  no  doubt  have  indulged  his  natural  vein  of 
sentiment  more  freely  in  his  writings  if  it  had  not  been 
kept  in  check  by  his  stern  regard  for  truth.;  "  To  tell  the 
truth  as  far  as  I  know  it  "  was  the  aim  he  constantly  set 


INTRODUCTION 

before  himself.     "  If  my  tap  is  not  genuine,  it  is  naught, 
and  no  one  should  give  himself  the  trouble  to  drink  it." 
I       "  It's   generally   best   to   understand    perfectly   what    you 
mean,,  and  to  express  your  meaning  clearly  afterwards,  in 
\  the  simpler  words  the  better  "-  -  herein  lies  no  small  part 
of  the  charm  of  his  style,  which  is  absolutely  free  from 
affectation    and    self-consciousness.      He    could    say    fear- 
Stranger!  I  never  writ  a  flattery, 
Nor  signed  a  page  that  registered  a  lie. 

his  devotion  to  truth  did  not  prevent  his  essential 
kindliness  from  being  apparent,  both  to  his  friends  and 
to  the  discerning  reader.  )  It  was  this  that. won  for  him 
the  praise  of  that  severest  of  judges,  Thomas  Carlyle: 
"  He  had  many  fine  qualities;  no  guile  or  malice  against 
any  mortal."  When  James  Hannay,  who  annotated  the 
first  edition  of  the  English  Humorists  for  him,  attempted 
to  modify  the  unfavorable  opinion  expressed  in  the  lec- 
tures of  the  character  of  Swift,  Thackeray  wrote: 

You  haven't  made  me  alter  my  opinion.  I  admire,  or  rather 
admit,  his  power  as  much  as  you  do;  but  I  don't  admire  that 
kind  of  power  so  much  as  I  did  fifteen  years  ago,  or  twenty  shall 
we  say.  Love  is  a  higher  intellectual  exercise  than  Hatred:  and 
when  you  get  one  or  two  more  of  those  young  ones  you  write  so 
pleasantly  about,  you'll  come  over  to  the  side  of  the  kind  wags, 
I  think,  rather  than  the  cruel  ones. 

It  is  characteristic  of  Thackeray  that  in  the  Humorists 
he  made  it .  his  object,  as  he  himself  says,  "rather  to 
describe  the  men  than  their  works;  or  to  deal  with  the 
latter  only  in  as  far  as-ttyey  seem  to  illustrate  the  char- 
acter of  their  writers."  Men  rather  than  books,  and 
hearts  rather  tnan  mindst  were  what  interested  him. 


INTRODUCTION  29 

Thackeray  had  little  respect  for  purely  intellectual  power ; 
and  he  had  a  wholesome  reverence  for  goodness  and  kind- 
ness, even  when  accompanied  by  stupidity.  This  is  the 
explanation  of  his  severe  judgments  of  Swift  and  Sterne; 
the  cynicism  of  the  former,  and  the  petty  vices  of  the 
latter  were  alike  intolerable  to  him.  He  was  nearer  in 
sympathy  to  the  kind-hearted,  though  erring,  Dick  Steele ; 
to  the  pious  Addison ;  to  the  thriftless,  vain,  but  gentle 
Goldsmith;  and  above  all,  to  the  "  brave,  generous,  truth- 
telling  "  Fielding.  Thackeray  had  not  the  modern 
scholar's  craze  for  accuracy,  and  his  lectures  have  been 
corrected  in  some  points  of  detail.  His  appreciation  of 
Swift  is  insufficient,  as  indeed  are  all  attempts  to  under- 
stand fully  that  great  and  mysterious  genius;  his  appraisal 
of  Pope  errs  perhaps  on  the  other  side  of  undue  gentle- 
ness. But,  taken  as  a  whole,  the  English  Humorists  is 
an  admirable  example  of  Thackeray's  great-hearted  sym- 
pathy and  keen  insight  into  human  excellence  and  human 
frailty.  The  power  which  made  Vanity  Fair  the  greatest 
picture  of  the  society  of  his  time,  in  its  strength  as  well 
as  in  its  weakness,\  the  knowledge  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury which  made  Esmond  the  most  perfect  of  historical 
novels,  are  exhibited  in  the  Humorists,  on  a  smaller  scale 
it  is  true,  for  the  canvas  is  smaller,  but  with-  unerring 
fidelity,  right  feeling,  and  sureness  of  touch,  y  There  is 
no  scorn,  except  of  baseness  and  cruelty;  and  even  when 
the  satirist  laughs  at  the  frailties  of  poor  humanity,  there 
is  tenderness  behind./  An  Irishman  once  reproached 
Thackeray  for  always  making  fun  of  the  Irish,  adding 
'*  you  don't  like  us."  Thackeray's  eyes  filled  with  tears 
as  he  thought  of  his  wife  —  born  in  County  Cork  —  and 


30  INTRODUCTION 

turning  away  his  head,   he  exclaimed :   "  God   help  me ! 
all  that  I  have  loved  best  in  the  world  is  Irish." 

That  is  why  Thackeray  says  that  Swift  was  no  Irish 
man;  his  "  heart  was  English."  And  yet,  how  quick  I 
Thackeray  is  to  respond  to  the  pathetic  words  of  Swift, 
which  recall  his  love  for  Stella,  —  Only  a  woman's  haiA 
— "  only  love,,  only  fidelity,  only  purity,  innocence,  beauty  a 
only  the  tenderest  heart  in  the  world  stricken  and 
wounded,  and  passed  away  now  out  of  reach  of  pangs 
of  hope  deferred,  love  insulted,  and  pitiless  desertion: — 
only  that  lock  of  hair  left;  and  memory  and  remorse,  for 
the  guilty,  lonely  wretch,  shuddering  over  the  grave  of 
his  victim." 

On  themes  such  as  this  Thackeray  could  rise  from  his 
simple,  easy,  natural  style  to  heights  of  noble  eloquence; 
and  he  carries  his  readers  with  him  all  the  more  readily 
because  he  does  not  often  appeal  to  the  more  obvious 
springs  of  pathos.  His  moral  and  religious  feelings  were 
deep-seated  —  guiding  principles  of  life,  not  precepts  toi 
be  uttered  to  any  chance  comer,  on  every  occasion.  But' 
no  moralist  gives  us  saner  views  of  life  and  conduct ;  and 
thoughtful  youth  can  find  no  sounder,  as  well  as  no  more 
delightful  guide.\ 

ComeyWealth  or  want,  come  good  or  ill, 

Let  young  and  old  accept  their  part, 
And  bow  before  the  Awful  Will, 

And  bear  it  with  an  honest  heart, 
Who  misses  or  who  wins  the  prize. 

Go  lose  or  conquer  as  you  can; 
But  if  you  fail,  or  if  you  rise, 

Be  each,  pray  God,  a  gentleman. 

— The  End  of  the  Play. 


CHRONOLOGICAL    OUTLINE   OF 
THACKERAY'S  LIFE 

Born  at  Calcutta, 
Came  to  England. 
Charterhouse. 

Trinity   College,    Cambridge. 
Weimar. 
Middle  Temple. 
The  National  Standard. 
The   Constitutional. 
Marriage. 

Yellowplush  Correspondence  in  Eraser's  Mag- 
azine. 

Paris  Sketch  Book. 
Mrs.  Thackeray's  illness. 
History  of  Samuel  Titmarsh*. 
The  Great  Hoggarty  Diamond. 
Punch  founded. 
Irish  Sketch  Book. 
Barry  Lyndon. 
Cornhill  to  Cairo. 
Vanity  Fair. 
Pendennis. 
Lectures  on  English  Humorists  in  London. 

31 


Z2    CHRONOLOGICAL  OUTLINE  OF  THACKERAY'S  LIFE! 

1852.  Esmond. 

1852-3.  First  visit  to  the  United  States. 

1853-5.  The  Newcomes. 

1854.  The  Rose  and  the  Ring. 

1855—6.  The    Four     Georges  —  second     tour     in     the! 

United  States. 

1857.  Oxford  Candidature. 

1857-9.  The   Virginians. 

1860.  Cornhill  Magazine  started. 

1861-2.  The  Adventures  of  Philip. 

1860-3.  Roundabout  Papers. 

1863.  Died  December  24. 

1864.  Denis  Duval    (unfinished). 

A  FEW  USEFUL  BOOKS  FOR  STUDENTS  OF 
THACKERAY 

Biographical  Edition  of  the  Works  of  W.  M.  Thack- 
eray. 

Life,  by  Sir  Leslie  Stephen,  in  the  Dictionary  of 
National  Biography  (reprinted  in  the  above). 

A  Collection  of  Letters  by  W.  M.  Thackeray,  1847-55. 

H.  Merivale  and  F.  T.  Marzials  —  Life  of  Thackeray 

Lewis  Melville  —  Life  of  Thackeray. 

G.  K.  Chesterton —  Thackeray. . 

C.  Whibley  —  Thackeray. 

Eyre  Crowe  —  With  Thackeray  in  America. 

J.  G.  Wilson  —  Thackeray  in  the  United  States. 


THE 

ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

OF  THE 

EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY 


THE  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

OF  THE 

EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY 


LECTURE  THE  FIRST 


SWIFT 

In  treating  of  the  English  Humorists  of  the  past  age, 
itjis_  of  the  men  and  of  their  lives.,  rather  than  of  theirX 
jpooks^that  I  ask  permission  to  speak  to  you ;  and  in  doing 
so,  you  are  aware  that  I  cannot  hope  to  entertain  you  with 
a  merely  humorous  or  facetious  story.  Harlequin  without 
his  mask  is  known  to  present  a  very  sober  countenance, 
and  was  himself,  the  story  goes,  the  melancholy  patient 
whom  the  doctor  advised  to  go  and  see  Harlequin,  —  a 
man  full  of  cares  and  perplexities  like  the  rest  of  us, 
whose  self  must  always  be  serious  to  him,  under  what- 
ever mask  or  disguise  or  uniform  he  presents  it  to  the 
public.  And  as  all  of  you  here  must  needs  be  grave  when 
you  think  of  your  own  past  and  present,  you  will  not  look 
to  find  in  the  histories  of  those  whose  lives  and  feelings 
I  am  going  to  try  and  describe  to  you  a  story  that  is  other- 
wise than  serious,  and  often  very  sad.  If  humor  only 
meant  laughter,  you  would  scarcely  feel  more  interest 
about  humorous  writers  than  about  the  private  life  of  poor 
Harlequin  j^st  mentioned,  who  possesses  in  common  with 
these  the  power  of  making  you  laugh ;  but  the  men  regard- 

>  35 


36  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

ing  whose  lives  and  stories  your  kind  presence  here  shows 
that  you  have  curiosity  and  sympathy,  appeal  to  a  great 
number  of  our  other  faculties  besides  our  mere  sense  of 
ridicule.  The  humorous  writer  professes  to  awaken  and 
direct  your  love,  your  pity,  your  kindness  —  your  scorn 
for  untruth,  pretention,  imposture  —  your  tenderness  for 
the  weak,,  the  poor,  the  oppressed,  the  unhappy.  To  the 
best  of  his  means  and  ability  he  comments  on  all  the  ordi- 
nary actions  and  passions  of  life  almost.  He  takes  upon 
jo  himself  to  be  the  week-day  preacher,  so  to  speak.  Accord- 
ingly, as  he  finds  and  speaks  and  feels  the  truth  best,  we 
regard  him,  esteem  him,  —  sometimes  love  him ;  and  as 
his  business  is  to  mark  other  people's  lives  and  peculiarities, 
we  moralize  upon  his  life  when  he  has  gone,  —  and  yes- 
i  terday's  preacher  becomes  the  text  for  to-day's  sermon. 

Of  English  parents  and  of  a  good  English  family  of 
clergymen,  Swift  was  born  in  Dublin  in  1667,  jseven 
months  after  the  death  of  his  father,  who  had  come  to 
practice  there  as  a  lawyer.  The  boy  went  to  school  at 
Kilkenny,  and  afterwards  to  Trinity  College,  Dublin, 
where  he  got  a  degree  with  difficulty,  and  was  wild  and 
witty  and  poor.  In  1688,  by  the  recommendation  of  his 
mother,  Swift  was  received  into  the  family  of  Sir  William 
Temple,  who  had  known  Mrs.  Swift  in  Ireland.  He  left 
his  patron  in  1693,  and  the  next  year  took  orders  in  Dub- 
lin ;  but  he  threw  up  the  small  Irish  preferment  which  he 
got,  and  returned  to  Temple,  in  whose  family  he  remained 
until  Sir  William's  death  in  1699.  His  hopes  of  advance- 
ment in  England  failing,  Swift  returned  to  Ireland,  and 
took  the  living  of  Laracor.  Hither  he  invited  Hester 


SWIFT  37 

Johnson,  Temple's  natural  daughter,  with  vvhom  he  had 
contracted  a  tender  friendship  while  they  were  both 
dependents  of  Temple's;  and  with  an  occasional  visit  to 
England,  Swift  now  passed  nine  years  at  home. 

In  1709  he  came  to  England,  and  with  a  brief  visit  to 
Ireland,  during  which  he  took  possession  of  his  deanery  of 
Saint  Patrick,  he  now  passed  five  years  in  England,  taking 
the  most  distinguished  part  in  the  political  transactions 
which  terminated  with  the  death  of  Queen  Anne.  After 
her  death,  his  party  disgraced,  and  his  hopes  of  ambition 
over,  Swift  returned  to  Dublin,  where  he  remained  twelve 
years.  In  this  time  he  wrote  the  famous  "  Drapier's  Let- 
ters "  and  "  Gulliver's  Travels."  He  married  Hester 
Johnson  (Stella),  and  buried  Esther  Vanhomrigh 
(Vanessa),  who  had  followed  him  to  Ireland  from  Lon- 
don, where  she  had  contracted  a  violent  passion  for  him. 
In  1726  and  1727  Swift  was  in  England,  which  he  quitted 
for  the  last  time  on  hearing  of  his  wife's  illness.  Stella 
died  in  January,  1728,  and  Swift  not  until  1745,  having 
passed  the  last  five  of  the  seventy-eight  years  of  his  life 
with  an  impaired  intellect  and  keepers  to  watch,  him. 

You  know,  of  course,  that  Swift  has  had  many  biogra- 
phers ;  his  life  has  been  told  by  the  kindest  and  most  good- 
natured  of  men,  Scott,  who  admires  but  cannot  bring  him- 
self to  love  him;  and  by  stout  old  Johnson,  who,  forced 
to  admit  him  into  the  company  of  poets,  receives  the 
famous  Irishman,  and  takes  off  his  hat  to  him  with  a  bow 
of  surly  recognition,  scans  him  from  head  to  foot,  and 
passes  over  to  the  other  side  of  the  street.  Doctor  Wilde 
of  Dublin,  who  has  written  a  most  interesting  volume  on 
the  closing  years  of  Swift's  life,  calls  Johnson  "  the  most 


38  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

malignant  of  his  biographers."  It  is  not  easy  for  an 
English  critic  to  please  Irishmen,  —  perhaps  to  try  and 
please  them.  And  yet  Johnson  truly  admires  Swift:  John- 
son does  not  quarrel  with  Swift's  change  of  politics,  or 
doubt  his  sincerity  of  religion :  about  the  famous  Stella 
and  Vanessa  controversy  the  Doctor  does  not  bear  very 
hardly  on  Swift.  But  he  could  not  give  the  Dean  that 
honest  hand  of  his;  the  stout  old  man  puts  it  into  his 
breast,  and  moves  off  from  him. 

Would  we  have  liked  to  live  with  him  ?  That  is  a  ques- 
tion which,  in  dealing  with  these  people's  works,  and 
thinking  of  their  lives  and  peculiarities,  every  reader  of 
biographies  must  put  to  himself.  Would  you  have  liked 
to  be  a  friend  of  the  great  Dean?  I  should  like  to  have 
been  Shakspere's  shoe-black,  —  just  to  have  lived  in  his 
house,  just  to  have  worshipped  him,  —  to  have  run  on  his 
errands,  and  seen  that  sweet,  serene  face.  I  should  like, 
as  a  young  man,  to  have  lived  on  Fielding's  staircase  in  the 
Temple,  and  after  helping  him  up  to  bed  perhaps,  and 
opening  his  door  with  his  latchkey,  to  have  shaken  hands 
with  him  in  the  morning,  and  heard  him  talk  and  crack 
jokes  over  his  breakfast  and  his  mug  of  small  beer.  Who 
would  not  give  something  to  pass  a  night  at  the  club  with 
Johnson  and  Goldsmith  and  James  Boswell,  Esquire,  of 
Auchinleck  ?  The  charm  of  Addison's  companionship  and 
conversation  has  passed  to  us  by  fond  tradition.  But 
Swift?  If  you  had  been  his  inferior  in  parts  (and  that, 
with  a  great  respect  for  all  persons  present,  I  fear  is  only 
very  likely),  his  equal  in  mere  social  station,  he  would 
have  bullied,  scorned,  and  insulted  you;  if,  undeterred  by 
his  great  reputation,  you  had  met  him  like  a  man,  he 


SWIFT  39 


would  have  quailed  before  you,  and  not  had  the  pluck  to 
reply,  and  gone  home,  and  years  after  written  a  foul  epi- 
gram about  you,  —  watched  for  you  in  a  sewer,  and  come 
out  to  assail  you  with  a  coward's  blow  and  a  dirty  bludg- 
eon. If  you  had  been  a  lord  with  a  blue  ribbon,  who 
flattered  his  vanity  or  could  help  his  ambition,  he  would 
have  been  the  most  delightful  company  in  the  world;  he 
would  have  been  so  manly,  so  sarcastic,,  so  bright,  odd, 
and  original,  that  you  might  think  he  had  no  object  in 
view  but  the  indulgence  of  his  humor,  and  that  he  was 
the  most  reckless,  simple  creature  in  the  world.  How  he 
WTmld  have  torn  your  enemies  to  pieces  for  you,  and  made 
fun  of  the  Opposition !  His  servility  was  so  boisterous 
jhat  it  looked  like  independence.  He  would  have  done 
your  errands,  but  w^ith  the  air  of  patronizing  you ;  and 
after  fighting  your  battles,  masked,  in  the  street  or  the 
press,  would  have  kept  on  his  hat  before  your  wife  and 
daughters  in  the  drawing-room,  content  to  take  that  sort 
of  pay  for  his  tremendous  services  as  a  bravo. 

He  says  as  much  himself  in  one  of  his  letters  to  Boling- 
broke : — "All  my  endeavors  to  distinguish  myself  were 
only  for  want  of  a  great  title  and  fortune,  that  I  might 
be  used  like  a  lord  by  those  who  have  an  opinion  of  my 
parts;  whether  right  or  wrong  is  no  great  matter.  And 
so  the  reputation  of  wit  and  great  learning  does  the  office 
of  a  blue  ribbon  or  a  coach-and-six." 

Could  there  be  a  greater  candor?  It  is  an  outlaw  who 
says,  "These  are  rm^  brains;  with  these  I'll  win  titles 
and  compete  with  forttijje.  These  are  my  bullets;  these 
I'll  turn  into  gold;"  and  he  hears  the  sound  of  coaches 
and  six,  takes  the  road  like  Macheath,  and  makes  society 


40  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

stand  and  deliver.  They  are  all  on  their  knees  before 
him.  Down  go  my  Lord  Bishop's  "apron,  and  his 
Grace's  blue  ribbon,,  and  my  Lady's  brocade  petticoat  in 
the  mud.  He  eases  the  one  of  a  living,  the  other  of  a 

s  patent  place,  the  third  of  a  little  snug  post  about  the 
Court,  and  gives  them  over  to  followers  of  his  own. 
The  great  prize  has  not  come  yet.  The  coach  with  the 
mitre  and  crozier  in  it,  which  he  intends  to  have  for  his 
share,  has  been  delayed  on  the  way  from^Saint  James's; 

10  and  he  waits  and  waits  until  nightfall,  when  his  runners 
come  and  tell  him  that  the  coach  has  taken  a  different 
road,  and  escaped  him.  So  he  fires  his  pistols  into  the  air 
with  a  curse,  and  rides  away  into  his  own  country. 

Swift's  seems  to  me  to  be  as  good  a  name  to  point  a 

15  moral  or  adorn  a  tale  of  ambition  as  any  hero's  that  ever 
lived  and  failed.  But  we  must  remember  that  the  moral- 
ity was  lax;  that  other  gentlemen  besides  himself  took  the 
road  in  his  day;  that  public  society  was  in  a  strange,  dis- 
ordered condition,  and  the  State  was  ravaged  by  other 

w  condottieri.  vThe  Boyne  was  being  fought  and  won,  and 
lost;  the  bells  rang  in  William's  victory  in  the  very  same 
tone  with  which  they  would  have  pealed  for  James's. 
Men  were  loose  upon  politics,  and  had  to  shift  for  them- 
selves; they,  as  well  as  old  beliefs  and  institutions,  had 

15  lost  their  moorings  and  gone  adrift  in  the  storm.  As  in 
the  South  Sea  Bubble,  almost  everybody  gambled;  as  in 
the^Railway  mania,  not  many  centuries  ago,  almost  every 
one  took  his  unlucky  share.  A  man  of  that  time  of  the 
vast  talents  and  ambition  of  Swift  could  scarce  do  other- 

o  wise  than  grasp  at  his  prize,  and  make  his  spring  at  his  op- 
portunity. His  bitterness,  his  scorn,  his  rage,  his  subsequent 


SWIFT  41 

misanthropy,  are  jiscnbed  by  some  panegyrists  to  a  delib- 
erate conviction  of  mankind's  unworthiness,  and  a  desire 
to  amend  them  by  castigation.  His  youth  was  bitter,  as 
that  of  a  great  genius  bound  down  by  ignoble  ties  and 
powerless  in  a  mean  dependence ;  his  age  was  bitter,  like 
that  of  a  great  genius  that  had  fought  the  battle  and  nearly 
won  it,  and  lost  it,  and  thought  of  it  afterwards  writhing 
in  a  lonely  exile.  A  man  may  attribute  to  the  gods,  if  he 
likes,  what  is  caused  by  his  own  fury  or  disappointment 
or  self-will.  What  public  man,  what  statesman  project- 
ing a  coup,  what  king  determined  on  an  invasion  of  his 
neighbor,  what  satirist  meditating  an  onslaught  on  society 
or  an  individual,  cannot  give  a  pretext  for  his  move? 
There  was  a  French  general  the  other  day  who  proposed 
to  march  into  this  country  and  put  it  to  sack  and  pillage, 
in  revenge  for  humanity  outraged  by  our  conduct  at 
Copenhagen.  There  is  always  some  excuse  for  men  of 
the  aggressive  turn;  they  are  of  their  nature  warlike, 
predatory,  eager  for  fight,  plunder,  dominion. 

As  fierce  a  beak  and  talon  as  ever  struck,  as  strong  a  lV 
wing  as  ever  beat,  belonged  to  Swift.     I  am  glad,  for  one, 
that  fate  wrested  the  prey  out  of  his  claws,  and  cut  his 
wings  and  chained  him.     One  can  gaze,  and  not  without 
awre  and  pity,  at  the  lonely  eagle  chained  behind  the  bars. 

That  Swift  was  born  at  No.  7  Hoey's  Court,  Dublin, 
on  the  30th  November,  1667,  is  a  certain  fact  of  which 
nobody  will  deny  the  sister  island  the  honor  and  glory; 
but  it  seems  to  me  he  was  no  more  an  Irishman  than  a 
man  born  of  English  parents  at  Calcutta  is  a  Hindoo. 
Goldsmith  was  an  Irishman,  and  always  an  Irishman ; 
Steele  was  an  Irishman,  and  always  an  Irishman ;  Swift's 


42  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

heart  was  English  and  in  England,  his  habits  English,  his 
logic  eminently  English.  Plis  statement  is  elaborately 
simple;  he  shuns  tropes  and  metaphors,  and  uses  his  ideas 
and  words  with  a  wise  thrift  and  economy,  as  he  used  his 
money,  —  with  which  he  could  be  generous  and  splendid 
upon  great  occasions,  but  which  he  husbanded  when  there 
was  no  need  to  spend  it.  He  never  indulges  in  needless 
extravagance  of  rhetoric,  lavish  epithets,  profuse  imagery; 
he  lays  his  opinion  before  you  with  a  grave  simplicity  and 
a  perfect  neatness.  Dreading  ridicule,  too,  as  a  man  of 
his  humor  —  above  all,  an  Englishman^  his  humor  — 
certainly  would,  he  is  afraid  to  use  the  poetical  power 
which  he  really  possessed.  One  often  fancies  in  reading 
him  that  he  dares  not  be  eloquent  when  he  might;  that 
he  does  not  speak  above  his  voice,  as  it  were,  and  the  tone 
of  society. 

His  initiation  into  politics,  his  knowledge  of  business, 
his  knowledge  of  polite  life,  his  acquaintance  with  litera- 
ture even,  which  he  could  not  have  pursued  very  sedu- 
lously during  tlrqt  reckless  career  at  Dublin,  Swift  got 
under  the  roof  of  Sir  William  Temple.  He  was  fond 
of  telling  in  after  life  what  quantities  of  books  he  devoured 
there,  and  how  King  William  taught  him  to  cut  aspara- 
gus in  the  Dutch  fashion.  It  was  at  Shene  and  at  Moor 
Park,  with  a  salary  of  twenty  pounds  and  a  dinner  at  the 
pper  servants'  table,  that  this  great  and  lonely  Swift 
passed  a  ten  years'  apprenticeship,  wore  a  cassock  that  was 
only  not  a  livery,  bent  down  a  knee  as  proud  as  Lucifer's 
to  supplicate  my  Lady's  good  graces,  or  run  on  his  Honor's 
errands.  It  was  here,  as  he  was  writing  at  Temple's  table 
or  following  his  patron's  walk,  that  he  saw  and  heard  the 


SWIFT  43 

men  who  had  governed  the  great  world,  —  measured  him- 
self with  them,  looking  up  from  his  silent  corner,  gauged 
their  brains,,  weighed  their  wits,  turned  them  and  tried 
them  and  marked  them.  Ah,  what  platitudes  he  must 
have  heard,  what  feeble  jokes,  what  pompous  common- 
places! What  small  men  they  must  have  seemed  under 
those  enormous  periwigs  to  the  swarthy,  uncouth,  silent 
Irish  secretary !  I  wonder  whether  it  ever  struck  Temple 
that  that  Irishman  was  his  master?  I  suppose  that  dismal 
conviction  did  not  present  itself  under  the  ambrosial  wig, 
or  Temple  could  never  have  lived  with  Swift.  Swift 
sickened,  rebelled,  left  the  service,  —  ate  humble  pie,  and 
came  back  again ;  and  so  for  ten  years  w^ent  on,  gathering 
learning,  swallowing  scorn,  and  submitting  with  a  stealthy 
rage  to  his  fortune. 

Temple's  style  is  the  perfection  of  practised  and  eas> 
good-breeding.  If  he  does  not  penetrate  very  deeply  into 
a  subject,  he  professes  a  .very  gentlemanly  acquaintance 
with  it;  if  he  makes  rather  a  parade  of  Latin,  it  was  the 
custom  of  his  day,  as  it  was  the  custom  for  a  gentleman 
to  envelop  his  head  in  a  periwig  and  his  hands  in  lace 
ruffles.  If  he  wrears  buckles  and  square-toed  shoes,  he 
steps  in  them  with  a  consummate  grace,  and  you  never 
hear  their  creak,  or  find  them  treading  upon  any  lady's 
train  or  any  rival's  heels  in  the  Court  crowd.  When  that 
grows  too  hot  or  too  agitated  for  him,,  he  politely  leaves 
it;  he  retires  to  his  retreat  of  Shene  or  Moor  Park,  and 
lets  the  King's  party  and  the  Prince  of  Orange's  party 
battle  it  out  among  themselves.  He  reveres  the  sovereign 
(and  no  man  perhaps  ever  testified  to  his  loyalty  by  so 
elegant  a  bow);  he  admires  the  Prince  of  Orange;  but 


44  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

there  is  one  person  whose  ease  and  comfort  he  loves  more 
than  all  the  princes  in  Christendom,  and  that  valuable 
member  of  society  is  himself,  —  Gulielmus  Temple, 
Baronettus.  One  sees  him  in  his  retreat,  between  his 
study-chair  and  his  tulip-beds,  clipping  his  apricots  and 
pruning  his  essays,  —  the  statesman,  the  ambassador  no 
more,  but  the  philosopher,  thetpicurean,  the  fine  gentle- 
man and  courtier  at  Saint  James's  as  at  Shene;  where,  in 
place  of  kings  and  fair  ladies,  he  pays  his  court  to  the 
Cicerom^n  majesty,  or  walks  a  minuet  with  the  Epic 
Muse,  or  dallies  by  the  south  wall  with  the  ruddy  nymph 
of  gardens. 

Temple  seems  to  have  received  and  exacted  a  prodigous 
deal  of  veneration  from  his  household,  and  to  have  been 
coaxed  and  warmed  and  cuddled  by  the  people  round 
about  him  as  delicately  as  any  of  the  plants  which  he 
loved.  When  he  fell  ill  in  1693,  the  household  was 
aghast  at  his  indisposition;  mild  Dorothea  his  wife,  the 
best  companion  of  the  best  of  men,  — 

"  Mild  Dorothea,  peaceful,  wise,  and  great, 
Trembling  beheld  the  doubtful  hand  of  fate." 

As  for  Dorinda,  his  sister,  — 

"Those  who  would  grief  describe  might  come  and  trace 
Its  watery  footsteps  in  Dorinda's  face. 
To  see  her  weep,  joy  every  face  forsook, 
*~      And  grief  flung  sables  on  each  menial  look. 

The  humble  tribe  mourned  for  the  quickening  soul 
That  furnished  spirit  and  motion  through  the  whole." 

Is  not  that  line  in  which  grief  is  described  as  putting 
the  menials  into  a  mourning  livery  a  fine  image?  *One 
of  the  menials  wrote  it,  who  did  not  like  that  Temple 
livery  nor  those  twenty-pound  wages.  Cannot  one  fancy 


SWIFT  45 

the  uncouth  young  servitor,  with  downcast  eyes,  books 
and  papers  in  hand,  following  at  his  Honor's  heels  in  the 
garden  walk,  or  taking  his  Honor's  orders  as  he  stands  by 
the  great  chair,  where  Sir  William  has  the  gout,  and  his 
feet  all  blistered  with  moxa?  When  Sir  William  has  the 
gout  or  scolds,  it  must  be  hard  work  at  the  second  table; 
the  Irish  secretary  owned  as  much  afterwards;  and  when 
he  came  to  dinner,  how  he  must  have  lashed  and  growled 
and  torn  the  household  with  his  gibes  and  scorn !  What 
would  the  steward  say  about  the  pride  of  them  Irish 
schollards,  —  and  this  one  had  got  no  great  credit  even 
at  his  Irish  college,  if  the  truth  were  known,  —  and  what 
aX^ontempt  his  Excellency's  own  gentleman  must  have  had 
for  Larson  Teague  from  Dublin!  (The  valets  and  chap- 
lains were  always  at  war.  It  is  hard  to  say  which  Swift 
thought  the  more  contemptible.)  And  what  must  have 
been  the  sadness,  the  sadness  and  terror,  of  the  house- 
keeper's little  daughter,  with  the  curling  black  ringlets 
and  the  sweet  smiling  face,  when  the  secretary  who  teaches 
her  to  read  and  write,  and  whom  she  loves  and  reverences 
above  all  things,  —  above  mother,  above  mild  Dorothea, 
above  that  tremendous  Sir  William  in  his  square  toes  and 
periwig,  —  when  Mr.  Swift  comes  down  from  his  master 
with  rage  in  his  heart,  and  has  not  a  kind  word  even  for 
little  Hester  Johnson? 

Perhaps  for  the  Irish  secretary  his  Excellency's  conde- 
scension was  even  more  cruel  than  his  frowns.  Sir  Wil- 
liam would  perpetually  quote  Latin  and  the  ancient  classics 
a  propos  of  his  gardens  and  his  Dutch  statues  andrplates- 
bandes,  and  talk  about  Epicurus  and  Diogenes  Laertius, 
Julius  Caesar,  bemiramis,  and  the  gardens  of  the*  Hes- 


46  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

perides,,    Maecenas,    Strabo    describing    Jericho,    and    the 

x Assyrian   kings.     A  propos  of  beans,   he  would  mention, 

Pythagoras's  precept  to  abstain  from  beans,  and  that  this 

precept  probably  meant  that  wise  men  should  abstain  from 

5     public  affairs.     He  is  a  placid  Epicurean ;  he  is  a  Pytha-  . 
gorean  philosopher;  he  is  a  wise  man,  —  that  is  the  deduc- 
tion.    Does  not  Swift  think  so  ?     One  can  imagine  the  ] 
downcast  eyes  lifted  up  for  a  moment,  and  the  flash  of  ] 
scorn  which  they  emit.     Swift's  eyes  were  as  azure  as  the  ] 

10  heavens.  Pope  says  nobly  (as  everything  Pope  said  and 
thought  of  his  friend  was  good  and  noble),  "  His  eyes 

-*  are  as  azure  as  the  heavens,  and  have  a  charming  archness 
in  them;"  and\>ne  person  in  that  household  —  that  pomp- 
ous, stately,  kindly  Moor  Park  —  saw  heaven  nowhere 

is    else. 

But  the  Temple  amenities  and  solemnities  did  not  agree 
with  Swift.     He  was  half  killed  with  a  surfeit  of  Shene 
>;    pippins ;  and  in  a  garden-seat  which  he  devised  for  himself  i 
at  Moor  Park,  and  where  he  devoured  greedily  the  stock  I 

20    of  books  within  his  reach,  he  caught  a  vertigo  and  deaf- 
ness which  punished  and  tormented  him  through  life.     He 
could  not  bear  the  place  or  the  servitude.     Even  in  that  i 
poem  of  courtly  condolence,  from  which  we  have  quoted  j 
a  few  lines  of   mock  melancholy,   he   breaks  out   of   the  j 

25    funereal   procession  with  a  mad  shriek,   as   it  were,   and 
rushes  away  crying  his  own  grief,  cursing  his  own  fate,  j 
foreboding  madness,   and   forsaken   by   fortune   and   even  \ 
hope. 

I  don't  know  anything  more  melancholy  than  the  letter 

so  to  Temple,  in  which,  after  having  broken  from  his  bond- 
age, the  poor  wretch  crouches  piteously  towards  his  cage  f 


SWIFT  47 

again,   and   deprecates  his  master's   anger.      He   asks   for 
testimonials  for  orders. 

"  The  particulars  required  of  me  are  what  relate  to  morals  and 
learning,  and  the  reasons  of  quitting  your  Honor's  family,  —  that 
is,  whether  the  last  was  occasioned  by  any  ill  action.  They  are 
left  entirely  to  your  Honor's  mercy,  though  in  the  first  I  think  I 
cannot  reproach  myself  for  anything  further  than  for  infirmities. 
This  is  all  I  dare  at  present  beg  from  your  Honor,  under  circum- 
stances of  life  not  worth  your  regard.  What  is  left  me  to  wish 
(next  to  the  health  and  prosperity  of  your  Honor  and  family)  is 
that  Heaven  would  one  day  allow  me  the  opportunity  of  leaving 
my  acknowledgments  at  your  feet.  I  beg  my  most  humble  duty 
and  service  be  presented  to  my  ladies,  your  Honor's  lady  and 
sister." 

Can  prostration  fall  deeper  ?    Could  a  slave  bow  lower  ? 
Twenty   years    afterwards  ~  Bishop    Kennet,    describing 
the  same  m§n,  says : — 

"  Dr.  Swift  came  into  the  coffee-house  and  had  a  bow  from 
everybody  but  me.  When  I  came  to  the  antechamber  [at  Court] 
to  wait  before  prayers,  Dr.  Swift  was  the  principal  man  of  talk 
and  business.  He  was  soliciting  the  Earl  of  Arran  to  speak  to 
his  brother,  the  Duke  of  Ormond,  to  get  a  place  for  a  clergyman. 
He  was  promising  Mr.  Thorold  to  undertake,  with  my  Lord 
Treasurer,  that  he  should  obtain  a  salary  of  ,£200  per  annum  as 
member  of  the  English  Church  at  Rotterdam.  He  stopped  F. 
Gwynne,  Esquire,  going  into  the  Queen  with  the  red  bag,  and 
told  him  aloud  he  had  something  to  say  to  him  from  my  Lord 
Treasurer.  He  took  out  his  gold  watch,  and  telling  the  time  of 
day  complained  that  it  was  very  late.  A  gentleman  said  he  was 
too  fast.  '  How  can  I  help  it,'  says  the  Doctor,  *  if  the  courtiers 
give  me  a  watch  that  won't  go  right  ?  '  Then  he  instructed  a 
young  nobleman  that  the  best  poet  in  England  was  *Mr.  Pope 
(a  Papist),  who  had  begun  a  translation  of  Homer  into  English, 
for  which  he  would  have  them  all  subscribe ;  *  for,'  says  he,  *  he 


48  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

shall  not  begin  to  print  till  I  have  a  thousand  guineas  for  him.' 
Lord  Treasurer,  after  leaving  the  Queen,  came  through  the  room, 
beckoning  Doctor  Swift  to  follow  him.  Both  went  off  just  before 
prayers." 

There's  a  little  malice  in  the  Bishop's  "  just  before 
prayers." 

^*This  picture  of  the  great  Dean  seems  a  true  one,  and 
is  harsh,  though  not  altogether  unpleasant.  He  was  doing 
good,  and  to  deserving  men  too,  in  the  midst  of  these 
intrigues  and  triumphs.  His  journals  and  a  thousand 
anecdotes  of  him  relate  his  kind  acts  and  rough  manners. 
His  hand  was  constantly  stretched  out  to  relieve  an  honest 
man;  he  was  cautious  about  his  money,  but  ready.  If  you 
were  in  a  strait,  would  you  like  such  a  benefactor?  I 
think  I  wrould  rather  have  had  a  potato  and  a  friendly 
word  from  Goldsmith  than  have  been  beholden  to  the 
Dean  for  a  guinea  and  a  dinner.  He  insulted  a  man  as 
he  served  him,  made  women  cry,  guests  look  foolish , 
bullied  unlucky  friends,  and  flung  his  benefactions  into 
poor  men's  faces.  No ;  the  Dean  was  no  Irishman  —  no 
Irishman  ever  gave  but  with  a  kind  word  and  a  kind 
heart. 

It  is  told,  as  if  it  were  to  Swift's  credit,  that  the  Dean 
of  St.  Patrick's  performed  his  family  devotions  every 
morning  regularly,  but  with  such  secrecy  that  the  guests 
in  his  house  were  never  in  the  least  aware  of  the  ceremony. 
There  was  no  need  surely  why  a  church  dignitary  should 
assemble  his  family  privily  in  a  crypt,  and  as  if  he  was 
afraid  of  heathen  persecution.  But  I  think  the  world  was 
right;  and  the  bishops  who  advised  Queen  Anne,  when 
they  counselled  her  not  to  appoint  the  author  of  the  Tale 


SWIFT  49 

of  a  Tub  "  to  a  bishopric,  gave  perfectly  good  advice.  The 
man  who  wrote  the  arguments  an'd  illustrations  in  that 
wild  book  could  not  but  be  aware  what  must  be  the  sequel 
of  the  propositions  which  he  laid  down.  The  boon  com- 
panion of  Pope  and  Bolingbroke,  who  chose  these  as  the 
friends  of  his  life  and  the  recipients  of  his  confidence  and 
affection,,  must  have  heard  many  an  argument  and  joined 
in  many  a  conversation  over  Pope's  port,  or  St.  John's 
burgundy,  which  would  not  bear  to  be  repeated  at  other 
men's  boards. 

I  know  of  few  things  more  conclusive  as  to  the  sincerity 
of  Swift's  religion  than  his  advice  to  poor  John  Gay  to 
turn  clergyman,  and  look  out  for  a  "seat  on  the  Bench. 
Gay,  the  author  of  the  "  Beggar's  Opera;"  Gay,  the  wild- 
est of  the  wits  about  town,  —  it  was  this  man  that  Jona- 
than Swift  advised  to  take  orders,  to  invest  in  a  cassock 
and  bands,  just  as  he  advised  him  to  husband  his  shillings 
and  put  his  thousand  pounds  out  at  interest.  The  Queen 
and  the  bishops  and  the  world  were  right  in  mistrusting 
the  religion  of  that  man. 

I  am  not  here,  of  course,  to  speak  of  any  man's  religious 
views  except  in  so  far  as  they  influence  his  literary  charac- 
ter, his  life,  his  humor.  The  most  notorious  sinners  of  all 
those  fellow-mortals  whom  it  is  our  business  to  discuss  — 
Harry  Fielding  and"  Dick  Steele  —  were  especially  loud, 
and  I  believe  really  fervent,  in  their  expressions  of  belief; 
they  belabored  freethinkers,  and  stoned  imaginary  atheists 
on  all  sorts  of  occasions,  going  out  of  their  way  to  bawl 
their  own  creed  and  persecute  their  neighbor's ;  and  if  they  \ 
sinned  and  stumbled,  as  they  constantly  did  with  debt, 
with  drink,  with  all  sorts  of  bad  behavior,  they  got  upon 


50  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

their  knees  and  cried  Peccavi  "  with  a  most  sonorous 
orthodoxy.  Yes,  poor  Harry  Fielding  and  poor  Dick 
Steele  were  trusty  and  undoubting  Church  of  England 
men ;  they  abhorred  popery,  atheism,"  and  wooden  shoes  and 

5  idolatries  in  general,  and  hiccupped  Church  and  State  with 
fervor. 

But  Swift?    His  mind  had  had  a  different  schooling,  and 
possessed  a  very  different  logical  power.    He  was  not  bred ' 
up  in  a  tipsy  guardroom,  and  did  not  learn  to  reason  in  a 

10  Covent  Garden  tavern.  Hejcpuld  conduct  an  argument 
from  beginning  to  end  ;  he  could  see  forward  with  a  fatal 

~  clearness.  In  his  old  age,  looking  at  the  "  Tale  of  a  Tub," 
when  he  said,  "  Good  God !  what  a  genius  I  had  when  I 
wrote  that  book!"  I  think  he  was  admiring,  not  the 

15  genius,  but  the  consequences  to  which  the  genius  had 
brought  him,  —  a  vast  genius,  a  magnificent  genius,  a 
genius  wonderfully  bright  and  dazzling  and  strong,  —  to 
seize,  to  know,  to  see,  to  flash  upon  falsehood  and  scorch 
it  into  perdition,  to,  penetrate  into  the  hidden  motives  and 

20  expose  the  black  thoughts  of  men,  —  an  awful,  an  evil 
spirit. 

Ah,  man!  you,  educated  in  Epicurean  Temple's  library; 
you,  whose  friends  were  Pope  and  St.  John,  —  what  made 
you  to  swrear  to  fatal  vows,  and  bind  yourself  to  a  life-long 
hypocrisy  before  the  Heaven  which  you  adored  with  such 
real  wonder,  humility,  and  reverence?  For  Swift's  was 
a  reverent,  was  a  pious  spirit;  for  SwiiJt-rouldJove  and 
could  pray.  Through  the  storms  and  tempests  of  his 
furious  mind  the  stars  of  religion  and  love  break  out  in 
the  blue,  shining  serenely,  though  hidden  by  the  driving 
clouds  and  the  maddened  hurricane  of  his  life. 


SWIFT  51 

It  is  my  belief  that  he  suffered  frightfully  from  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  own  scepticism,  and  that  he  had  bent  his 
pride  so  far  down  as  to  put  his  apostasy  out  to  hire.  The 
paper  left  behind  him,  called  "  Thoughts  on  Religion," 
is  merely  a  set  of  excuses  for  not  professing  disbelief.  He 
says  of  his  sermons  that  he  preached  pamphlets.  They 
have  scarce  a  Christian  characteristic;  they  might  be 
preache4  from  the  steps  of  a  synagogue,  or  the  floor  of  a 
mosque,  or  the  box  of  a  coffee-house  almost.  There  is  lit- 
tle or  no  cant,  —  he  is  too  great  and  too  proud  for  that  ; 
and  in  so  far  as  the  badness  of  his  sermons  goes,  he  is  hon- 
est. But  having  put  that  cassock  on,  it  poisoned  him ;  he 
was  strangled  in  his  bands.  He  goes  through  life  tearing, 
like  a  man  possessed  with  a  devil.  Like  Abudah  in  the 
Arabian  story,  he  is  always  looking  out  for  the  Fury,  and 
knows  that  the  night  will  come  and  the  inevitable  hag 
with  it.  What  a  night,  my  God,  it  was!  what  a  lonely 
rage  and  long  agony!  xHvhat  a  vulture  that  tore  the  heart 
of  that  giant !  It  is  awful  to  think  of  the  great  sufferings  ] 
of  this  great  man.  Through  life  he  always  seems  alone,  1 
somehow.  'Goethe  wras  so.  I  cannot  fancy  Shakspere  I 
otherwise.  The  giants  must  live  apart ;  the  kings  can  have 
no  company.  But  this  man  suffered  so,  and  deserved  so 
to  suffer !  One  hardly  reads  anywhere  of  such  a  pain. 

The  '  saeva  indignatio  "  of  which  he  spoke  as  lacerat- 
ing his  heart,  and  which  he  dares  to  inscribe  on  his  tomb- 
stone (as  if  the  wretch  who  lay  under  that  stone,  waiting 
God's  judgment,  had  a  right  to  be  angry),  breaks  out  from 
him  in  a  thousand  pages  of  his  writings,  and  tears  and 
rends  him.  Against  men  in  office,  he  having  been  over- 
thrown ;  against  men  in  England,  he  having  lost  his  chance 


52  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

of  preferment  there,  the  furious  exile  never  fails  to  rage 
and  curse.  Is  it  fair  to  call  the  famous  "  Drapier's  Let- 
ters "  patriotism?  They  are  masterpieces  of  dreadful 
humor  and  invective ;  they  are  reasoned  logically  enough 

«,    too,  but  the  proposition  is  as  monstrous  and  fabulous  as  the 

Lilliputian  island.     It  is  not  that  the  grievance  is  so  great, 

but  there  is  his  enemy.     Theassault  is  wonderful  for  its 

x  activity  and  terrible  rage;  it  is  bamson,  with  a  bone  in  his 

\  hand,    rushing   on    his   enemies   and    felling   them.      One 

10  admires  not  the  cause,,  so  much  as  the  strength,  the  anger, 
the  fury  of  the  champion.  As  is  the  case  with  madmen, 
certain  subjects  provoke  him,  and  awaken  his  fits  of  wrath. 
Marriage  is  one  of  these.  In  a  hundred  passages  in  his 
writings  he  rages  against  it;  rages  against  children.  An 

is  object  of  constant  satire,  even  more  contemptible  in  his 
eyes  than  a  lord's  chaplain,  is  a  poor  curate  with  a  large 
family.  The  idea  of  this  luckless  paternity  never  fails  to 
bring  down  from  him  gibes  and  foul  language.  Gould 
Dick  Steele  or  Goldsmith  or  Fielding,  in  his  most  reckless 

:•«  momemXof  satire,  have  written  anything  like  the  Dean's 
famous  "  Modest  Proposal"  for  eating  children?  Not  one 
of  these  but  melts  at  the  thoughts  of  childhood,  fondles 
and  caresses  it.  Mr.  Dean  has  no  such  softness,  and  enters 
the  nursery  with  the  tread  and  gaiety  of  an  ogre.  "  I 

•-•.-,  have  been  assured,"  says  he,  in  the  "  Modest  Proposal," 
"  by  a  very  knowing  American  of  my  acquaintance  in 
London,  that  a  young  healthy  child,  well  nursed,  is  at  a 
year  old  a  most  delicious,  nourishing,  and  wholesome  food, 
whether  stewed,  roasted,  baked  or  boiled ;  and  I  make  no 

no  doubt  it  will  equally  serve  in  a  ragout."  And  taking  up 
this  pretty  joke,  as  his  way  is,  he  argues  it  with  perfect 


SWIFT  53 

gravity  and  logic.  He  turns  and  twists  this  subject  in  a 
score  of  different  ways :  he  hashes  it,  and  he  serves  it  up 
cold,  and  he  garnishes  it,  and  relishes  it-  always.  He 
describes  the  little  animal  as  "  dropped  from  its  dam," 
advising  that  the  mother  should  let  it  suck  plentifully  in 
the  last  month,  so  as  to  render  it  plump  and  fat  for  a  good 
table!  "A  child,"  says  his  Reverence,  "will  make  two 
dishes  at  an  entertainment  for  friends ;  and  when  the  fam- 
ily dines  alone,  the  fore  or  hind  quarter  will  make  a  rea- 
sonable dish,"  and  so  on.  And  the  subject  being  -so 
delightful  that  he  cannot  leave  it,  he  proceeds  to  recom- 
mend, in  place  of  venison  for  squires'  tables,  "  the  bodies 
of  young  lads  and  maidens  not  exceeding  fourteen  or 
under  twelve."  Amiable  humorist!  laughing  castigator 
of  morals !  There  was  a  process  well  known  and  practised 
in  the  Dean's  gay  days:  when  a  lout  entered  the  coffee- 
house, the  wags  proceeded  to  what  they  called  "  roasting  " 
him.  This  is  roasting  a  subject  with  a  vengeance.  The 
Dean  had  a  native  genius  for  it.  As  the  ^Almanach  des 
Gourmands  "  says,  v  On  nait  rotisseur." 
I  And  it  was  not  merely  by  the  sarcastic  method  that 
Bwift  exposed  the  unreasonableness  of  loving  and  having 
..children.  In  "  Gulliver,"  the  folly  of  love  and  marriage 
is  urged  by  graver  arguments  and  advice.  In  the  famous 
Lilliputian  kingdom,  Swift  speaks  with  approval  of  the 
practice  of  instantly  removing  children  from  their  parents 
and  educating  them  by  the  State;  and  among  his  favorite 
horses,  a  pair  of  foals  are  stated  to  be  the  very  utmost  a 
well-regulated  equine  couple  would  permit  themselves. 
In  fact,  our  great  satirist  was  of  opinion  that  conjugal 
love  was  unadvisable,  and  illustrated  the  theory  by  his  own 


54  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

practice  and  example  —  God  help  him ! —  which  made 
him  about  the  most  wretched  being  in  God's  world. 

The  grave  and  logical  conduct  of  an  absurd  proposition, 
as  exemplified  in  the  cannibal  proposal  just  mentioned,  is 
our  author's  constant  method  through  all  his  works  of 
humor.  Given  a  country  of  people  six  inches  or  sixty  feet 
high,  and  by  the  mere  process  of  the  logic  a  thousand  won- 
derful absurdities  are  evolved  at  so  many  stages  of  the  cal- 
culation. Turning  to  the  First  Minister  who  waited  behind 
him  with  a  white  staff  near  as  taU^s  the  mainmast  of  the 
**  Royal  Sovereign,"  the  King  of  Brobdingnag  observes 
how  contemptible  a  thing  human  grandeur  is,  as  repre- 
sented by  such  a  contemptible  little  creature  as  Gulliver. 
'  The  Emperor  of  Lilliput's  features  are  strong  and  mas- 
culine "  (what  a  surprising  humor  there  is  in  this  descrip- 
tion!)— "  the  Emperor's  features,"  Gulliver  says,  "are 
strong  and  masculine,  with  an  Austrian  lip,  an  arched 
nose ;  his  complexion  olive,  his  countenance  erect,  his  body 
and  limbs  well  proportioned,  and  his  deportment  majestic. 
He  i's  taller  by  the  breadth  of  my  nail  than  any  of  his 
Court,  which  alone  is  enough  to  strike  an  awe  into 
beholders/' 

What  a  surprising  humor  there  is  in  these  descriptions ! 
How  noble  the  satire  is  here!  how  just  and  honest!  How 
perfect  the  image J^Mr.  Macaulay  has  quoted  the  charm- 
ing lines  of  the  poet  where  the  king  of  the  pigmies  is 
measured  by. the  same  standard;  we  have  all  read  in  Milton 
of  the  spear  that  was  like  T  the  mast  of  some  great 
ammiral."  But  these  images  are  surely  likely  to  come  to 
the  comic  poet  originally.  The  subject  is  before  him;  he 
is  turning  it  in  a  thousand  wa}^s;  he  is  full  of  it.  The 


SWIFT  55 


figure  suggests  itself  naturally  to  him,  and  comes  out  of 
his  subject,  —  as  in  that  wonderful  passage  when  Gulli- 
ver's box  having  been  dropped  by  the  eagle  into  the  sea, 
and  Gulliver  having  been  received  into  the  ship's  cabin, 
he  calls  upon  the  crew  to  bring  the  box  into  the  cabin  and 
put  it  on  the  table,  the  cabin  being  only  a  quarter  the  size 
of  the  box!  It  is  the  veracity  of  the  blunder  which  is  so 
idmirable.  Had  a  man  come  from  such  a  country  as 
Brobdingnag,  he  would  have  blundered  so. 

But  the  best  stroke  of  humor,  if  there  be  a  best  in  that 
abounding  book,  is  that  where  Gulliver  in  the^unpro- 
nounceable  country,  describes  his  parting  from  his  master 
the  horse. 

"  I  took,"  he  says,  "  a  second  leave  of  my  master ;  but  as  I  was 
going  to  prostrate  myself  to  kiss  his  hoof,  he  did  me  the  honor  to 
raise  it  gently  to  my  mouth.  I  am  not  ignorant  how  much  I  have 
been  censured  for  mentioning  this  last  particular.  Detractors  are 
pleased  to  think  it  improbable  that  so  illustrious  a  person  should 
descend  to  give  so  great  a  mark  of  distinction  to  a  creature  so 
inferior  as  I.  Neither  have  I  forgotten  how  apt  some  travellers 
are  to  boast  of  extraordinary  favors  they  have  received.  But 
if  these  censurers  were  better  acquainted  with  the  noble  and 
courteous  disposition  of  the  Houyhnhnms,  they  would  soon  change 
their  opinion." 

The  surprise  here ;  the  audacity  of  circumstantial  evi- 
dence ;  the  astounding  gravity  of  the  speaker,  who  is  not 
ignorant  of  how  much  he  had  been  censured ;  the  nature 
of  the  favor  conferred,  and  the  respectful  exultation  at 
the  receipt  of  it,  —  are  surely  complete.  It  is  truth  topsy- 
turvy, entirely  logical  and  absurd. 

/Vs  for  the  humor  and  conduct  of  this  famous  fable,  I 


56  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

suppose  there  is  no  person  who  reads  but  must  admire.   As 
for  the  moral,  I  think  it  horrible,  shameful,  unmanly,  blas- 
phemous ;  and  giant  and  great  as  this  Dean  is,  I  say  we 
should  hoot  him.     Some  of  this  audience  may  not  have  read 
the  last  part  of  Gulliver;  and  to  such  I  would  recall  thej 
advice  of  the  venerable  {Mr.   Punch  to  persons  about  to 
marry,    and   say,    "  Don't."      When    Gulliver   first   lands 
among  the  "Yahoos,  the  naked,  howling  wretches  clamber 
up   trees   and   assault   him ;   and   he   describes   himself    as  . 
"  almost  stifled  with  the  filth  which  fell  about  him."    Thej 
reader  of  the  fourth  part  of  "  Gulliver's  Travels  "  is  like 
the  hero  himself  in  this  instance.    It  is  Yahoo  language,  — 
a   monster   gibbering   shrieks   and    gnashing   imprecations^ 
against  mankind ;  tearing  down  all  shreds  of  modesty,  past  j 
all  sense  of  manliness  and  shame ;  filthy  in  word,  filthy  in 
thought,  furious,  raging,  obscene. 

And  dreadful  it  is  to  think  that  Swift  knew  the  ten- 
dency of  his  creed,  —  the  fatal  rocks  towards  which  his 
logic  desperately  drifted.     That  last  part  of  "  Gulliver  " 
is  only  a  consequence  of  what  has  gone  before ;  and  the 
worthlessness  of  all  mankind,  the  pettiness,  cruelty,  pride,  ; 
imbecility;  the  general  vanity,  the  foolish  pretension,  thel 
mock  greatness,  the  pompous  dulness,  the  mean  aims,  the  ; 
base  successes,  —  all  these  were  present  to  him.     It  was  j 
with   the  din   of   these  curses  of   the  world,   blasphemies  j 
against  Heaven,  shrieking  in  his  ears,   that  he  began  to  : 
write  his  dreadful   allegory,  —  of  which  the  meaning  is  i 
that  man  is  utterly  wicked,  desperate,  and  imbecile ;  and  j 
his  passions  are  so  monstrous  and  his  boasted  powers  so] 
mean  that  he  is  and  deserves  to  be  the  slave  of  brutes,  and  j 
ignorance  is  better  than  his  vaunted  reason.     What  had 


SWIFT  57 

this  man  done?  What  secret  remorse  was  rankling  at  his 
heart,  what  fever  was  boiling  in  him,  that  he  should  see 
all  the  world  bloodshot?  We  view  the  world  w^ith  our 
own  eyes,  each  of  us ;  and  we  make  from  within  us  the 
world  we  see.  A  weary  heart  gets  no  gladness  out  of  sun- 
shine ;  a  selfish  man  is  sceptical  about  friendship,  as  a  man 
with  no  ear  does  not  care  for  music.  A  frightful  self- 
consciousness  it  must  have  been  which  looked  on  mankind 

, 

so  darkly  through  those  keen  eyes  of  Swift! 

A  remarkable  story  is  told  by  Scott  of  Delany,  who 
interrupted  *  Archbishop  King  and  Swift  in  a  conversation 
which  left  the  prelate  in  tears,  and  from  which  Swift 
rushed  away  with  marks  of  strong  terror  and  agitation  in 
his  countenance,  upon  winch  the  Archbishop  said  to 

i  Delany,  "  You  have  just  met  the  most  unhappy  man  on 
earth;  but  on  the  subject  of  his  wretchedness  you  must 
never  ask  a  question." 

The  most  unhappy  man  on  earth,  —  miserrimus!  what 
a  character  of  him !  And  at  this  time  all  the  great  wits  of 

>  England  had  been  at  his  feet ;  all  Ireland  had  shouted 
after  him,  and  worshipped  him  as  a  liberator,  a  savior,  the 
greatest  Irish  patriot  and  citizen.  Dean  Drapier  Bicker- 
staff  Gulliver,  —  the  most  famous  statesman  and  the  great- 
est poets  of  his  day  had  applauded  him  and  done  him 
homage;  and  at  this  time,  writing  over  to  Bolingbroke 
from  Ireland,  he  says:  "  It  is  time  for  me  to  have  done 
with  the  world ;  and  so  I  would  if  I  could  get  into  a  better 
before  I  was  called  into  the  best,  and  not  die  here  in  a 
rage,  like  a  poisoned  rat  in  a  hole!' 

We  have  spoken  about  the  men,  and  Swift's  behavior 
to  them;  and  now  it  behooves  us  not  to  forget  that  there 


58  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

are  certain  other  persons  in  the  creation  who  had  rather 
intimate  relations  with  the  great  Dean.  Two  women 
whom  he  loved  and  injured  are  known  by  every  reader  of 
books  so  familiarly  that  if  we  had  seen  them,  or  if  they 

5     had  been  relatives  of  our  own,  we  scarcely  could  have 

known  them  better.     Who  has  not  in  his  mind  an  image 

of   Stella?     Who   does  not  love  her?      Fair  and   tender 

—  creature!  pure  and  affectionate  heart!     Boots  it  to  you, 

now  that  you  have  been  at  rest  for  a  hundred  and  twenty 

10  years,  not  divided  in  death  from  the  cold  heart  which 
caused  yours,  whilst  it  beat,  such  faithful  pangs  of  love  and 
grief,  —  boots  it  to  you  now  that  the  whole  world  loves 
and  deplores  you?  Scarce  any  man,  I  believe,  ever  thought 
of  that  grave  that  did  not  cast  a  flower  of  pity  on  it,  and 

15  write  over  it  a  sweet  epitaph.  Gentle  lady,  so  lovely,  so 
loving,  so  unhappy!  you  have  had  countless  champions, 
millions  of  manly  hearts  mourning  for  you.  From  genera- 
tion to  generation  we  take  up  the  fond  tradition  of  your 
beauty;  we  watch  and  follow  your  tragedy,  your  bright 

20  morning  love  and  purity,  your  constancy,  your  grief,  your 
sweet  martyrdom.  We  know  your  legend  by  heart.  You 
are  one  of  the  saints  of  English  story. 

And  if  Stella's  love  and  innocence  are  charming  to  con- 
template, I  will  say  that  in  spite  of  ill-usage,  in  spite  of 

25  drawbacks,  in  spite  of  mysterious  separation  and  union,  of 
hope  delayed  and  sickened  heart;  in  the  teeth  of  Vanessa, 
and  that  little  episodical  aberration  which  plunged  Swift 
into  such  woeful  pitfalls  and  quagmires  of  amorous  per- 
plexity; in  spite  of  the  verdicts  of  most  women,  I  believe, 

so  who,  as  far  as  my  experience  and  conversation  go,  gener- 
ally take  Vanessa's  part  in  the  controversy;  in  spite  of  the 


SWIFT  59 

tears  which  Swift  caused  Stella  to  shed,  and  the  rocks  and 
barriers  which  fate  and  temper  interposed,  and  which  pre- 
vented the  pure  course  of  that  true  love  from  .running 
smoothly,  —  the  brightest  part  of  Swift's  story,  the  pure 
star  in  that  dark  and  tempestuous  life  of  Swift's,  is  his  love 
for  Hester  Johnson.  It  has  been  my  business,  profession- 
ally of  course,  to  go  through  a  deal  of  sentimental  reading 
in  my  time,  and  to  acquaint  myself  with  love-making  as 
it  has  been  described  in  various  languages  and  at  various 
ages  of  the  world;  and  I  know  of  nothing  more  manly, 
fenore  tender,  more  exquisitely  touching,  than  some  of  these 
,brief  notes,  written  in  what  Swift  calls  "  his  little  lan- 
guage "  in  his  journal  to  Stella.  He  writes  to  her  night 
and  morning  often.  He  never  sends  away  a  letter  to  her 
but  he  begins  a  new  one  on  the  same  day.  He  can't  bear 
to  let  go  her  kind  little  hand,  as  it  were.  He  knows  that 
she  is  thinking  of  him,  and  longing  for  him  far  away  in 
Dublin  yonder.  He  takes  her  letters  from  under  his  pil- 
low and  talks  to  them  familiarly,  paternally,  with  fond 
epithets  and  pretty  caresses,  —  as  he  would  to  the  sweet 
and  artless  creature  who  loved  him.  "  Stay,"  he  writes 
one  morning,  —  it  is  the  14th  of  December,  1710, — 
"  stay,  I  will  answer  some  of  your  letter  this  morning  in 
bed.  Let  me  see.  Come  and  appear,  little  letter !  '  Here 
I  am,'  says  he,  '  and  what  say  you  to  Stella  this  morning, 
fresh  and  fasting?'  And  can  Stella  read  this  writing 
without  hurting  her  dear  eyes?"  he  goes  on,  after  more 
kind  prattle  and  fond  whispering. .  The  dear  eyes  shine 
clearly  upon  him  then;  the  good  angel  of  his  life  is  with 
him  and  blessing  him.  Ah,  it  was  a  hard  fate  that  wrung 
from  them  so  many  tears,  and  stabbed  pitilessly  that  pure 


60  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

and  tender  bosom!  A  hard  fate:  but  would  she  have 
changed  it  ?  I  have  heard  a  woman  say  that  she  would 
have  taken  Swift's  cruelty  to  have  had  his  tenderness.  He 
had  a  sort  of  worship  for  her  whilst  he  wounded  her.  Het 
speaks  of  her  after  she  is  gone,  —  of  her  wit,  of  her  kind- 
ness, of  her  grace,  of  her  beauty,  —  with  a  simple  love  and 
reverence  that  are  indescribably  touching.  In  contempla- 
tion of  her  goodness  his  hard  heart  melts  into  pathos,  his^ 
cold  rhyme  kindles  and  glows  into  poetry;  and  he  falls^ 
down  on  his  knees,  so  to  speak,  before  the  angel  whose 
life  he  had  embittered,  confesses  his  own  wretchedness  andl 
unworthiness,  and  adores  her  with  cries  of  remorse  and; 
love : — 


"  When  on  my  sickly  couch  I  lay, 
Impatient  both  of  night  and  day, 
And  groaning  in  unmanly  strains 
Called  every  power  to  ease  my  pains, 
Then  Stella  ran  to  my  relief, 
With  cheerful  face  and  inward  grief; 
And  though  by  Heaven's  severe  decree 
She  suffers  hourly  more  than  me, 
No  cruel  master  could  require 
From  slaves  employed  for  daily  hire 
What  Stella,  by  her  friendship  warmed, 
With  vigor  and  delight  performed. 
Now  with  a  soft  and  silent  tread 
Unheard  she  moves  about  my  bed ; 
My  sinking  spirits  now  supplies 
With  cordials  in  her  hands  and  eyes. 
Best  pattern  of  true  friends!  beware 
You  pay  too  dearly  for  your  care 
If,  while  your  tenderness  secures 
My  life,  it  must  endanger  »yours; 


SWIFT  61 

For  such  a  fool  was  never  found 
Who  pulled  a  palace  to  the  ground, 
Only  to  have  the  ruins  made 
Materials  for  a  house  decayed." 

One  little  triumph  Stella  had  in  her  life,  one  dear  little 
piece  of  injustice  was  performed  in  her  favor,  for  which 
I  confess,  for  my  part,  I  cannot  help  thanking  fate  and 
the  Dean.  That  other  person  was  sacrificed  to  her;  that 
—  that  young  woman,  who  lived  five  doors  from  Doctor 
Swift's  lodgings  in  Bury  Street,  and  who  flattered  him 
and  made  love  to  him  in  such  an  outrageous  manner. 
Vanessa  was  thrown  over. 

Swift  did  not  keep  Stella's  letters  to  him  in  reply  to 
those  he  wrote  to  her.  He  kept  Bolingbroke's  and  Pope's 
ancTHarley's  and  Peterborough's.  But  Stella  "  very  care- 
fully," the  Lives  say,  kept  Swift's.  Of  course ;  that  is  the 
way  of  the  world.  And  so  we  cannot  tell  what  her  style 
was,  or  of  what  sort  were  the  little  letters  which  the 
Doctor  placed  there  at  night,  and  bade  to  appear  from 
under  his  pillow  of  a  morning.  But  in  Letter  IV.  of  that 
famous  collection  he  describes  his  lodging  in  Bury  Street, 
where  he  has  the  first-floor,  a  dining-room  and  bed- 
chamber, at  eight  shillings  a  week;  and  in  Letter  VI.  he 
says  "  he  has  visited  a  lady  just  come  to  town,"  whose 
name  somehow^  is  not  mentioned;  and  in  Letter  VIII.  he 
enters  a  query  of  Stella's:  "  What  do  you  mean  'that 
boards  near  me,  that  I  dine  with  now  and  then  '  ?  What 
the  deuce!  You  know  whom  I  have  dined  with  every  day 
since  I  left  you,  better  than  I  do."  Of  course  she  does. 
Of  course  Swift  has  not  the  slightest  idea  of  what  she 
means.  But  in  a  few  letters  more  it  turns  out  that  the 


62  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

Doctor  has  been  to  dine  "  gravely  "  with  a  Mrs.  Van- 
homrigh;  then  that  he  has  been  to  "  his  neighbor;"  then  | 
that  he  has  been  unwell,  and  means  to  dine  for  the  whole  I 
week  with  his  neighbor!  Stella  was  quite  right  in  her 
previsions.  She  saw  from  the  very  first  hint  what  was 
going  to  happen,  and  scented  Vanessa  in  the  air.  The 
rival  is  at  the  Dean's  feet.  The  pupil  and  teacher  are 
reading  together,  and  drinking  tea  together,  and  going  to 
prayers  together,  and  learning  Latin  together,  and  con- 
jugating amo_,  amas,  amavi  together.  The  "  little  lan- 
guage "  is  over  for  poor  Stella.  By  the  rule  of  grammar 
and  the  course  of  conjugation,  does  not  amavi  come  after 
amo  and  amas?^ 

The  loves  of  Cadenus  and  Vanessa  you  may  peruse  in 
Cadenus's  own  poem  on  the  subject,  and  in  poor  Vanessa's 
vehement  expostulatory  verses  and  letters  to  him.  She 
adores  him,  implores  him,  admires  him,  thinks  him  some- 
thing godlike,  and  only  prays  to  be  admitted  to  lie  at  his 
feet.  As  they  are  bringing  him  home  from  church,  those 
divine  feet  of  Doctor  Swift's  are  found  pretty  often  in 
Vanessa's  parlor.  He  likes  to  be  admired  and  adored. 
//  y  prend  gout.  He  finds  Miss  Vanhomrigh  to  be  a  woman 
of  great  taste  and  spirit  and  beauty  and  wit,  and  a  fortune 
too;  he  sees  her  every  day.  He  does  not  tell  Stella  about 
the  business,  until  the  impetuous  Vanessa  becomes  too  fond 
of  him,  until  the  Doctor  is  quite  frightened  by  the  young 
woman's  ardor  and  confounded  by  her  warmth.  He 
wanted  to  marry  neither  of  them,  —  that  I  believe  was 
the  truth ;  but  if  he  had  not  married  Stella,  Vanessa  w^ould 
have  had  him  in  spite  of  himself.  When  he  went  back  to 
Ireland,  hisvAriadne,  not  content  to  remain  in  her  isle, 


SWIFT  63 

pursued  the  fugitive  Dean.  In  vain  he  protested,  he 
vowed,  he  soothed,  and  bullied;  the  news  of  the  Dean's 
marriage  with  Stella  at  last  came  to  her,  and  it  killed  her  ; 
she  died  of  that  passion. 

And  when  she  died,  and  Stella  heard  that  Swift  had 
written  beautifully  regarding  her,  "  That  does  not  surprise 
me,"  said  Mrs.  Stella,  ^  for  we  all  know  the  Dean  could 
write  beautifully  about  a  broomstick."  A  woman,  a  true 
woman!  Would  you  have  had  one  of  them  forgive  the 
other  ? 

In  a  note  in  his  biography,  Scott  says  that  his  friend 
Doctor  Tuke,  of  Dublin,  has  a  lock  of  Stella's  hair 
enclosed  in  a  paper  by  Swift,  on  \vhich  are  written  in  the 
Dean's  hand  the  words,  "  Only  a  woman's  hair" —  an 
instance,  says  Scott,  of  the  Dean's  desire  to  veil  his  feelings 
under  the  mask  of  cynical  indifference. 

See  the  various  notions  of  critics  ?  Do  those  words  indi- 
cate indifference,  or  an  attempt  to  hide  feeling?  Did  you 
ever  hear  or  read  four  words  more  pathetic?  "  Only  a 
woman's  hair!"  Only  love,  only  fidelity,  only  purity,  \ 
innocence,  beauty;  only  the  tenderest  heart  in  the  world 
stricken  and  wounded,  and  passed  away  now  out  of  reach 
of  pangs  of  hope  deferred,  love  insulted,  and  pitiless  deser- 
tion ;  only  that  lock  of  hair  left,  and  memory  and  remorse 
for  the  guilty,  lonely  wretch  shuddering  over  the  grave  of 
his  victim! 

And  yet  to  have  had  so  much  love,  he  must  have  given 
some.     Treasures  of  wit  and  wisdom,  and  tenderness  too,    f 
must  that  man  have  had  locked  up  in  the  caverns  of  his 
gloomy  heart,  and  shown  fitfully  to  one  or  two  whom  he 
took  in  there.     But  it  was  not  good  to  visit  that  place. 


64  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

People  did  not  remain  there  long,  and  suffered  for  having 
been  there.  He  shrank  away  from  all  affections  sooner  or 
later.  Stella  and  Vanessa  both  died  near  him,  and  away 
from  him.  He  had  not  heartNenough  to  see  them  die.  He 
broke  from  his  fastest  friend,  Sheridan ;  he  slunk  away 
from  his  fondest  admirer,  Pope.  His  laugh  jars  on  one's 
ear  after  seven-score  years.  He  wras  always  alone,  alone 
and  gnashing  in  the  darkness,  except  when  Stella's  swreet 
smile  came  and  shone  upon  him.  When  that  went,  silence 
and  utter  night  closed  over  him.  An  immense  genius:  an 
aw-ful  downfall  and  ruin.  So  great  a  man  he  seems  to  me, 
that  thinking  of  him  is  like  thinking  of  an  empire  falling. 
We  have  other  great  names  to  mention,  —  none  I  think, 
however,  so  great  or  so  gloomy. 


LECTURE  THE  SECOND 

CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON 

A  great  number  of  years  ago,  before  the  passing  of  the 
Reform  Bill,  there  existed  at  Cambridge  a  certain  debating 
club  called  the  "  Union  ;"  and  I  remember  that  there  was 
a  tradition  amongst  the  undergraduates  who  frequented 
that  renowned  school  of  oratory,  that  the  great  leaders  of 
the  Opposition  and  Government  had  their  eyes  upon  the 
University  Debating  Club,  and  that  if  a  man  distinguished 
himself  there  he  ran  some  chance  of  being  returned  to 
Parliament  as  a  great  nobleman's  nominee.  So  Jones  of 
John's,  or  Thomson  of  Trinity,  would  rise  in  their  might, 
and  draping  themselves  in  their  gowns  rally  round  the 
monarchy,  or  hurl  defiance  at  priests  and  kings,  with  the 
majesty  of  Pitt  or  the  fire  of  Mirabeau,  fancying  all  the 
while  that  the  great  nobleman's  emissary  was  listening  to 
the  debate  from  the  back  benches  where  he  was  sitting 
with  the  family  seat  in  his  pocket.  Indeed,  the  legend  said 
that  one  or  two  young  Cambridge  men,  orators  of  the 
"  Union,"  were  actually  caught  up  thence,  and  carried 
down  to  Cornwall  or  Old  Sarum,  and  so  into  Parliament ; 
and  many  a  young  fellow  deserted  the  jogtrot  university 
curriculum,  to  hang  on  in  the  dust  behind  the  fervid 
wheels  of  the  parliamentary  chariot. 

Where,  I  have  often  wondered,  were  the  sons  of  Peers 
and  Members  of  Parliament  in  Anne's  and  George's  time? 
Were  they  all  in  the  army,  or  hunting  in  the  country,  or 

65 


66  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

boxing  the  watch  ?  How  was  it  that  the  young  gentlemen 
from  the  University  got  such  a  prodigious  number  of 
places?  A  lad  composed  a  neat  copy  of  verses  at  Christ- 
church  or  Trinity,  in  which  the  death  of  a  great  personage 
was  bemoaned,  the  French  king  assailed,  the  Dutch  or 
Prince  Eugene  complimented,  or  the  reverse;  and  the 
party  in  power  was  presently  to  provide  for  the  young 
poet ;  and  a  commissionership,  or  a  post  in  the  Stamps,  or 
the  secretaryship  of  an  Embassy,  or  a  clerkship  in  the 
Treasury,  came  into  the  bard's  possession.  A  wonderful 
fruit-bearing  rod  was  that  of  Busby's.  What  have  men  of 
letters  got  in  our  time?  Think,  not  only  of  Swift,  —  a 
king  fit  to  rule  in  any  time  or  empire,  —  but  Addison, 
Steele,  Prior,  Tickell,  Congreve,  John  Gay,  John  Dennis, 
and  many  others,  \vho  got  public  employment  and  pretty 
little  pickings  out  of  the  public  purse.  The  wits  of  whose 
names  we  shall  treat  in  this  lecture  and  two  following,  all 
(save  one)  touched  the  King's  coin,  and  had  at  some 
period  of  their  lives  a  happy  quarter-day  coming  round 
for  them. 

They  all  began  at  school  or  college  in  the  regular  way, 
producing  panegyrics  upon  public  characters,  what  were 
called  odes  upon  public  events,  battles,  sieges,  court  mar- 
riages and  deaths,  in  which  the  gods  of  Olympus  and  the 
tragic  muse  were  fatigued  writh  invocations,  according  to 
the  fashion  of  the  time  in  France  and  in  England.  "  Aid 
us,  Mars,  Bacchus,  Apollo!"  cried  Addison  or  Congreve, 
singing  of  William  or  Marlbo rough.  "Accourez,  chastes 
nymphes  du  Parnasse !"  says  Boileau,  celebrating  the  Grand 
Monarch :  "  Des  sons  que  ma  lyre  enfante  marquez-en 
bien  la  cadence;  et  vous,  vents,  faites  silence!  je  vais  parler 


CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON  67 

|de  Louis!"  Schoolboys'  themes  and  foundation  exercises 
are  the  only  relics  left  now  of  this  scholastic  fashion.  The 
Olympians  remain  quite  undisturbed  in  their  mountain. 
What  man  of  note,  what  contributor  to  the  poetry  of  a 
country  newspaper,  would  now  think  of  writing  a  con- 
gratulatory ode  on  the  birth  of  the  heir  to  a  dukedom,  or 
the  marriage  of  a  nobleman?  In  the  past  century  the 
young  gentlemen  of  the  Universities  all  exercised  them- 
selves at  these  queer  compositions ;  and  some  got  fame,  and 
some  gained  patrons  and  places  for  life,  and  many  more 
took  nothing  by  these  efforts  of  what  they  were  pleased 
to  call  their  muses. 

William  Congreve's  Pindaric  Odes  are  still  to  be  found 
in  "  Johnson's  Poets,"  that  now  unfrequented  poets'  corner 
in  which  so  many  forgotten  bigwigs  have  a  niche;  but 
though  he  was  also  voted  to  be  one  of  the  greatest  tragic 
poets  of  any  day,  it  was  Congreve's  wit  and  humor  which 
first  recommended  him  to  courtly  fortune.  And  it  is 
recorded  that  his  first  play,  the  "  Old  Bachelor,"  brought 
our  author  to  the  notice  of  that  great  patron  of  the  Eng- 
lish muses,  .jCharles  Montague  Lord  Halifax,  —  who, 
.being  desirous  to  place  so  eminent  a  wit  in  a  state  of  ease 
and  tranquillity,  instantly  made  him  one  of  the  Commis- 
sioners for  licensing  hackney-coaches,  bestowed  on  him 
soon  after  a  place  in  the  Pipe  Office,  and  likewise  a  post 
in  the  Custom  House  of  the  value  of  £600. 

A  commissionership  of  hackney-coaches,  a  post  in  the 
Custom  House,  a  place  in  the  Pipe  Office,  —  and  all  for 
writing  a  comedy!  Does  not  it  sound  like  a  fable,  that 
place  in  the  Pipe  Office?  "  Ah,  1'heureux  temps  que  celui 
de  ces  fables!"  Men  of  letters  there  still  be;  but  I 


68     .  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

doubt  whether  any  Pipe  Offices  are  left.     The  public  has 
smoked  them  long  ago. 

Words,  like  men,  pass  current  for  a  while  with  the  pub- 
lic, and  being  known  everywhere  abroad,  at  length  take 
their  places  in  society;  so  even  the  most  secluded  and 
refined  ladies  here  present  will  have  heard  the  phrase  from 
their  sons  or  brothers  at  school,  and  will  permit  me  to  call 
William  Congreve,  Esquire,  the  most  eminent  literary 
"  swell  "  of  his  age.  In  my  copy  of  "  Johnson's  Lives  " 
Congreve's  wig  is  the  tallest,  and  put  on  with  the  jauntiest 
air  of  all  the  laurelled  worthies.  "I  am  the  great  Mr. 
Congreve,"  he  seems  to  say,  kx>king  out  from  his  volumi- 
nous curls.  People  called  him  the  great  IVIr.  Congreve. 
From  the  beginning  of  his  career  until  the  end  everybody 
admired  him.  Having  got  his  education  in  Ireland,  at 
the  same  school  and  college  with  Swift,  he  came  to  live  in 
the  Middle  Temple,  London,  where  he  luckily  bestowed 
no  attention  to  the  law,  but  splendidly  frequented  the 
coffee-houses  and  theatres,  and  appeared  in  the  side-box,  \ 
the  tavern,  the  Piazza,  and  the  Mall,  brilliant,  beautiful,  I 
and  victorious  from  the  first.  Everybody  acknowledged 
the  young  chieftain.  The  great  Mr.  Dryden  declared  that 
he  was  equal  to  Shakspere,  and  bequeathed  to  him  his  own 
.undisputed  poetical  crown,  and  writes  of  him:  "Mr. 
Congreve  has  done  me  the  favor  to  review  the  ^neis  and 
compare  my  version  with  the  original.  I  shall  never  be 
ashamed  to  own  that  this  excellent  young  man  has  showed 
me  many  faults,  which  I  have  endeavored  to  correct." 

The  "  excellent  young  man  "  was  but  three  or  four  and 
twenty  when  the  great  Dryden  thus  spoke  of  him,  —  the 
greatest  literary  chief  in  England,  the  veteran  field-marshal 


CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON  69 

of  letters,  himself  the  marked  man  of  all  Europe,  and  the 
centre  of  a  school  of  wits  who  daily  gathered  round  his 
chair  and  tobacco-pipe  at  Will's.  Pope  dedicated  his  Iliad 
to  him ;  Swift,  Addison,  Steele,  all  acknowledge  Con- 
greve's  rank,  and  lavish  compliments  upon  him.  Voltaire 
went  to  wait  upon  him  as  on  one  of  the  Representatives  of 
Literature ;  and  the  man  who  scarce  praises  any  other  liv- 
ing person,  who  flung  abuse  at  Pope  and  Swift  and  'Steele 
and  Addison,  —  the  Grub  Street  Timon,  old  John  Den- 
nis, —  was  hat  in  hand  to  Mr.  Congreve,  and  said  that 
when  he  retired  from  the  stage,  Comedy  went  with  him. 

Nor  was  he  less  victorious  elsewhere.  He  was  admir£d 
in  the  drawing-rooms  as  well  as  the  coffee-houses;  as  much 
beloved  in  the  side-box  as  on  the  stage.  He  loved  and 
conquered  and  jilted  the  beautiful  Bracegirdle,  the  heroine 
of  all  his  plays,  the  favorite  t>f  all  the  town  of  her  day ; 
and  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough,  Marlborough's  daugh^ 
ter,  hadLsuch_an  admiration  of  him,  that  w^henhe  died  she 
had  an  ivory  figure  made  to  imitate  him,  and  a  large  wax 
Holl  with  gouty  teet  to  be  dressed^  j  us  tasthe  greatCon- 
greve*s  jgoiity^eet  were  dfesse3^irT"hTs  great  lifetime.  He_ 
saved  some  money  by  his  Pipe  office  and  his  Custom  House^ 
officejaadJiisHackney-Coach  office,  and  nobly  left  it,  not 
to  BracegirdhTwho  wantedltTbut  to  the  DucHess "of  Marjj 
borough  who  did  not.^ 

How  can  I  introduce  to  you  that  merry  and  shameless 
Comic  Muse  who  won  him  such  a  reputation  ?  Nell 
Gwrynn's  servant  fought  the  other  footman  for  having 
called  his  mistress  a  bad  name;  and  in  like  manner,  and 
with  pretty  little  epithets,  Jeremy  Collier  attacked  that 
godless,  reckless  Jezebel,  the  English  comedy  of  his  time, 


70  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

and  called  her  what  Nell  Gwynn's  man's  fellow-servants  '. 
called  Nell  Gwynn's  man's  mistress.  The  servants  of 
the  theatre  —  Dryden,  Congreve,  and  others  —  defende'd 
themselves  with  the  same  success  and  for  the  same  cause 
which  set  Nell's  lacquey  fighting.  She  was  a  disreputable, 
daring,  laughing,  painted  French  baggage,  that  Comic 
Muse.  She  came  over  from  the  Continent  with  Charles 
(who  chose  many  more  of  his  female  friends  there)  at  the 
Restoration,  —  a  wild,  dishevelled  Lais,  with  eyes  bright 
with  wit  and  wine;  a  saucy  court  favorite  that  sat  at  the 
King's  knees  and  laughed  in  his  face,  and  when  she  showed 
her  bold  cheeks  at  her  chariot  window  had  some  of  the 
noblest  and  most  famous  people  of  the  land  bowing  round 
her  wheel.  She  was  kind  and  popular  enough,  that  daring 
Comedy,  that  audacious  poor  Nell ;  she  was  gay  and  gen- 
erous, kind,  frank,  as  such  people  can  afford  to  be ;  and 
the  men  who  lived  with  her  and  laughed  with  her  took 
her  pay  and  drank  her  wine,  turned  out  when  the  Puritans 
hooted  her  to  fight  and  defend  her.  But  the  jade  was 
indefensible,  and  it  is  pretty  certain  her  servants  knew  it. 
There  is  life  and  death  going  on  in  everything:  truth 
and  lies  always  at  battle.  Pleasure  is  always  warring 
against  self-restraint;  Doubt  is  always  crying  Psha!  and 
sneering.  A  man  in  life,  a  humorist  in  writing  about  life, 
sways  over  to  one  principle  or  the  other,  and  laughs  with 
the  reverence  for  right  and  the  love  of  truth  in  his  heart, 
or  laughs  at  these  from  the  other  side.  Didn't  I  tell  you 
that  dancing  was  a  serious  business  to  Harlequin?  I  have 
read  two  or  three  of  Congreve's  plays  over  before  speaking 
of  him;  and  my  feelings  were  rather  like  those  which  I 
dare  say  most  of  us  here  have  had  at  Pompeii,  looking  at 


CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON  71 

Sallust's  house  and  the  relics  of  an  orgy,  —  a  dried  wine- 
jar  or  two,  a  charred  supper-table,  the  breast  of  a  dancing- 
girl  pressed  against  the  ashes,  the  laughing  skull  of  a 
jester,  —  a  perfect  stillness  round  about,  as  the  cicerone 
twangs  his  moral,  and  the  blue  sky  shines  calmly  over  the 
ruin.  The  Congreve  Muse  is  deadT  and  her  song  chjokfed 
jnVTime's  ashes^  We  gaze  at  the  skeleton,  and  wonder^ 
at  the  life  which  once  revelled  in  its  macTveirisI  We  take 
the  skull  up,  and  muse  over  the  frolic  and  daring,  the  wit, 
scorn,  passion,  hope,  desire,  with  which  that  empty  bowl 
once  fermented.  We  think  of  the  glances  that  allured,  the 
.tears  that  melted;  of  the  bright  eyes  that  shone  in  those 
vacant  sockets,  and  of  lips  whispering  love,  and  cheeks 
dimpling  with  smiles  that  once  covered  yon  ghastly,  yellow 
framework.  They  used  to  call  those  teeth  pearls  once. 
See!  there's  the  cup  she  drank  from,  the  gold  chain  she 
wore  on  her  neck,  the  vase  which  held  the  rouge  for  her 
cheeks,  her  looking-glass,  and  the  harp  she  used  to  dance 
to.  Instead  of  a  feast  we  find  a  gravestone,  and  in  place 
of  a  mistress  a  few  bones! 

Reading  in  these  plays  now  is  like  shutting  your  ears  and 
looking  at  people  dancing.  What  does  it  mean,  —  the 
measures,  the  grimaces,  the  bowing,  shuffling,  and  retreat- 
ing; the  cavalier  seul  advancing  upon  those  ladies,  those 
ladies  and  men  twirling  round  at  the  end  in  a  mad  galop ; 
after  which  everybody  bows,  and  the  quaint  rite  is  cele- 
brated ?  Without  the  music  we  cannot  understand  that 
comic  dance  of  the  last  century,  —  its  strange  gravity  and^ 
gaietyphs  decorum  or  its  indecorum.  It  has  a  jargon  of 
"t^owii_^[uit£jmlikej.i^  a  sortTof  moral  of  its  own  quite_ 
janlijbMife  too.  JTm  afFaid  it's  a  Heathen  mystery^ 


72  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

^ymbolizing  a  Pagan  doctrine;  protesting  ( as  the  Pom- 
peians  very  likely  were,  assembled  at  their  theatre  and 
laughing  at  their  games ;  as  Sallust  and  his  friends  and 
their  mistresses  protested,  crowned  with  flowers,  with  cups 
in  their  hands)  against  the  new^,  hard,  ascetic,  pleasure- 
hating  doctrine  whose  gaunt  disciples,  lately  passed  over 
from  the  Asian  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  were  for 
breaking  the  fair  images  of  Venus  and  flinging  the  altars 
of  Bacchus  down.  » 

I  fancy  poor  Congreve's  theatre  is  a  templeof_JPagar^ 
delights,  and  mj^steries  not  permitted  except  among 
Heathens.  I  fear  the  theatre  carries  down  that  ancient 
tradition  and  worship,  as  Masons  have  carried  their  secret 
signs  and  rites  from  temple  to  temple.  When  the  libertine 
hero  carries  off  the  beauty  in  the  play,  and  the  dotard  is 
laughed  to  scorn  for  having  the  young  w^ife;  in  the  ballad, 
when  the  poet  bids  his  mistress  to  gather  roses  while  she 
may,  and  warns  her  that  old  Time  is  still  a-flying;  in  the 
ballet,  when  honest  Corydon  courts  Phillis  under  the 
treillage  of  the  pasteboard  cottage,  and  leers  at  her  over 
the  head  of  grandpapa  in  red  stockings,  who  is  opportunely 
asleep ;  and  when  seduced  by  the  invitations  of  the  rosy 
youth  she  comes  forward  to  the  footlights,  and  they  per- 
form on  each  other's  tiptoes  that  pas  which  you  all  know, 
and  which  is  only  interrupted  by  old  grandpapa  awaking 
from  his  doze  at  the  pasteboard  chalet  (whither  he  returns 
to  take  another  nap  in  case  the  young  people  get  an 
encore)  ;  when  Harlequin,  splendid  in  youth,  strength, 
and  agility,  arrayed  in  gold  and  a  thousand  colors,  springs 
over  the  heads  of  countless  perils,  leaps  down  the  throat 
of  bewildered  giants,  and,  dauntless  and  splendid,  dances 


CONGREVE  AND  ADDISCW  73 

danger  down ;  when  Mr.  Punch,  that  godless  old  rebel, 
breaks  every  law  and  laughs  at  it  with  odious  triumph, 
outwits  his  lawyer,  bullies  the  beadle,  knocks  his  wife 
about  the  head,  and  hangs  the  hangman,  —  don't  you  see 
in  the  comedy,  in  the  song,  in  the  dance,  in  the  ragged 
little  Punch's  puppet-show,  the  Pagan  protest?  Does  not 
it  seem  as  if  Life  puts  in  its  plea  and  sings  its  comment? 
Look  how  the  lovers  walk  and  hold  each  other's  hands  and 
whisper!  Sings  the  chorus:  "  There  is  nothing  like  love, 
there  is  nothing  like  youth,  there  is  nothing  like  beauty 
of  your  springtime.  Look  how  old  age  tries  to  meddle 
with  merry  sport!  Beat  him  with  his  own  crutch,  the 
wrinkled  old  dotard !  There  is  nothing  like  youth,  there 
is  nothing  like  beauty,  there  is  nothing  like  strength. 
Strength  and  valor  win  beauty  and  youth.  Be  brave  and 
conquer.  Be  young  and  happy.  Enjoy,  enjoy,  enjoy! 
Would  you  know  the  Segreto  per  esser  felice?  Here  it  is, 
in  a  smiling  mistress  and  a  cup  of  Falernian !"  As  the 
boy  tosses  the  cup  and  sings  his  song  —  hark !  what  is  that 
chant  coming  nearer  and  nearer?  What  is  that  dirge 
which  will  disturb  us?  The  lights  of  the  festival  burn 
dim,  the  cheeks  turn  pale,  the  voice  quavers,  and  the  cup 
drops  on  the  floor.  Who  is  there?  Death  and  Fate  are 
at  the  gate,  and  they  will  come  in. 

>  Congreve's  comic  feast  flares  with  lights ;  and  rourid  the 
table,  emptying  their  flaming  bowls  of  drink  and  exchang- 
%g_the^wII3est_jests  and^-ibaldry7  sit  men  and^women, 
waited_on_bv_  rascally  valets  and  attendants  as  dissolute  as^ 
^thejFn^  the  very  worst  company  in  the 

qyorjd.  There  does  not  seem  to  be  a  pretence  of  morals. 
At  the  head  of  the  table  sits  Mirabel  or  Belmour  (dressed 


74  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

in  the  French  fashion,  and  waited  on  by  English  imitators 
of  Scapin  and  Frontin).  Their  calling  is  to  be  irresistible, 
and  to  conquer  everywhere.  Like  the  heroes  of  the 
chivalry  story,  whose  long-winded  loves  and  combats  they 
were  sending  out  of  fashion,  they  are  always  splendid  and 
triumphant,  —  overcome  all  dangers,  vanquish  all  enemies, 
and  win  the  beauty  at  the  end.  Fathers,  husbands,  usurers, 
are  the  foes  these  champions  contend  with.  They  are 
merciless  in  old  age  invariably,  and  an  old  man  plays  the 
part  in  the  dramas  which  the  wicked  enchanter  or  the 
great  blundering  giant  performs  in  the  chivalry  tales,  who 
threatens  and  grumbles  and  resists,  —  a  huge,  stupid 
obstacle  always  overcome  by  the  knight.  It  is  an  old  man : 
with  a  money-box :  Sir  Belmour,  his  son  or  nephew,  spends 
his  money  and  laughs  at  him.  It  is  an  old  man  with  a 
young  wife  whom  he  locks  up:  Sir  Mirabel  robs  him  of 
his  wife,  trips  up  his  gouty  old  heels,  and  leaves  the  old 
hunks.  The  old  fool!  what  business  has  he  to  hoard  his 
money,  or  to  lock  up  blushing  eighteen?  Money  is  for 
youth,  love  is  for  youth :  away  with  the  old  people !  When 
Millamant  is  sixty,  having  of  course  divorced  the  first 
Lady  Millamant  and  married  his  friend  Doricourt's 
granddaughter  out  of  the  nursery,  it  will  be  his  turn ;  and  ; 
young  Belmour  will  make  a  fool  of  him.  All  this  pretty  I 
morality  you  have  in  the  comedies  of  William  CongreveJ 
Esquire.  They  are  full  of  wit.  Such  manners  as  he 
observes,  he  observes  with  great  humor;  but,  ah;  it  is  a 
weary  feast,  that  banquet  of  wit  where  no  love  is.  It  palls 
very  soon ;  sad  indigestions  follow  it,  and  lonely  blank 
headaches  in  the  morning. 

I    cannot   pretend    to   quote   scenes   from    the   splendid 


CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON  75 

Congreve's  plays  —  which  are  undeniably  bright,  witty, 
and  daring  —  any  more  than  I  could  ask  you  to  hear  the 
dialogue  of  a  witty  bargeman  and  a  brilliant  fishwoman 
exchanging  compliments  at  Billingsgate ;  but  some  of  his 
verses  —  they  were  amongst  the  most  famous  lyrics  of  the 
time,  and  pronounced  equal  to  Horace  by  his  contempo- 
raries—  may  give  an  idea  of  his  power,  of  his  grace,  of 
his  daring  manner,  his  magnificence  in  compliment,  and  his 
-polished  sarcasm.  He  writes  as  if  he  was  so  accustomed 
.to  conquer,  that  he  has  a  poor  opinion  of  his  victims. 
Nothing  is  new  except  their  faces,  says  he;  "  every  \voman 
is  the  same."  He  says  this*  in  his  first  comedy,  which  he 
wrote  languidly  in  illness,  when  he  was  an  "  excellent 
young  man."  Richelieu  at  eighty  could  have  hardly  said 
a  more  excellent  thing. 

When  he  advances  to  make  one  of  his  conquests,  it  is 
with  a  splendid  gallantry,  in  full  uniform  and  writh  the 
fiddles  playing,  like  Grammont's  French  dandies  attacking 
the  breach  of  Lerida. 

"  Cease,  cease  to  ask  her  name,"  he  writes  of  a  young 
lady  at  the  Wells  at  Tunbridge,  whom  he  salutes  with  a 
magnificent  compliment,  — 

"  Cease,  cease  to  ask  her  name, 

The  crowned  Muse's  noblest  theme, 
.  Whose  glory  by  immortal  fame 

Shall  only  sounded  be. 
But  if  you  long  to  know, 
Then  look  round  yonder  dazzling  row: 
Who  most  does  like  an  angel  show 
You  may  be  sure  't  is  she." 

Here  are  lines  about  another  beauty,  who  perhaps  was 


76  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

not  so  well  pleased  at  the  poet's  manner  of  celebrating 
her: — 

"  When  Lesbia  first  I  saw,  so  heavenly  fair, 
With  eyes  so  bright  and  with  that  awful  air, 
I  thought  my  heart  which  durst  so  high  aspire 
As  bold  as  his  who  snatched  celestial  fire. 

"  But  soon  as  e'er  the  beauteous  idiot  spoke, 
Forth  from  her  coral  lips  such  folly  broke ! 
Like  balm  the  trickling  nonsense  healed  my  wound, 
And  what  her  eyes  enthralled  her  tongue  unbound." 

Amoret  is  a  cleverer  woman  than  the  lovely  Lesbia ;  but 
the  poet  does  not  seem  to  respect  one  much  more  than  the 
other,  and  describes  both  with  exquisite  satirical  humor : — 

"Fair  Amoret  is  gone  astray: 

Pursue  and  seek  her,  every  lover ! 
I'll  tell  the  signs  by  which  you  may 
The  wandering  shepherdess  discover. 

"  Coquet  and  coy  at  once  her  air, 

Both  studied,  though  both  seem  neglected; 
Careless  she  is  with  artful  care, 
Affecting   to   seem   unaffected. 

"  With  skill  her  eyes  dart  every  glance, 

Yet  change  so  soon  you'd  ne'er  suspect  them; 
For  she'd  persuade  they  wound  by  chance, 
Though  certain  aim  and  art  direct  them. 

"  She  likes  herself,  yet  others  hates 

For  that  which  in  herself  she  prizes; 
And,  while  she  laughs  at  them,  forgets 
She  is  the  thing  that  she  despises." 

What  could  Amoret  have  done  to  bring  down  such 
shafts  of  ridicule  upon  her?     Could  she  have  resisted  the 


CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON  77 

irresistible  Mr.  Congreve?  Could  'anybody?  Could 
Sabina,  when  she  woke  and  heard  such  a  bard  singing 
under  her  window?  "  See,"  he  writes,  — 

"  See!  see,  she  wakes!     Sabina  wakes! 

And  now  the  sun  begins  to  rise. 
Less  glorious  is  the  morn  that  breaks 

From  his  bright  beams  than  her  fair  eyes. 
With  light  united,  day  they  give ; 

But  different  fates  ere  night  fulfil : 
How  many  by  his  warmth  will  live ! 

How  many  will  her  coldness  kill!" 

Are  you  melted  ?  Do  not  you  think  him  a  divine  man  ? 
If  not  touched  by  the  brilliant  Sabina,  hear  the  devout 
Selinda: — 

"  Pious  Selinda  goes  to  prayers, 

If  I  but  ask  the  favor ; 
And  yet  the  tender  fool's  in  tears 

When  she  believes  I'll  leave  her ! 
Would  I  were  free  from  this  restraint, 

Or  else  had  hopes  to  win  her; 
Would  she  could  make  of  me  a  saint, 

Or  I  of  her  a  sinner!" 

What  a  conquering  air  there  is  about  these !  What  an 
irresistible  Mr.  Congreve  it  is !  Sinner !  of  course  he  will 
be  a  sinner,  the  delightful  rascal !  Win  her !  of  course  he 
will  win  her,  the  victorious  rogue !  He  knows  he  will :  he 
must,  with  such  a  grace,  with  such  a  fashion,  with  such  a 
splendid  embroidered  suit !  You  see  him  with  red-heeled 
shoes  deliciously  turned  out,  passing  a  fair  jewelled  hand 


through  his  dishevelled  periwig,  and  delivering  a  killing 
ogle  along  with  his  scented  billet.     And  Sabina?     What  a 


78  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

comparison  that  is  between  the  nymph  and  the  sun !  The 
sun  gives  Sabina  the  pas,  and  does  not  venture  to  rise 
before  her  ladyship.  The  morn's  bright  beams  are  less 
glorious  than  her  fair  eyes;  but  before  night  everybody  will 

«  be  frozen  by  her  glances,  —  everybody  but  one  lucky 
rogue  who  shall  be  nameless.  Louis  Quatorze  in  all  his 
glory  is  hardly  more  splendid  than  our  Phoebus  Apollo 
of  the  Mall  and  Spring  Garden. 

When  Voltaire  ^ame_  to  visit  the  great  j^ongreve.  the 

10    latter  rather  affected  to  despise  his  literary  reputation,  — 
lmd~Trfthis,  perhaps,  the  great  Congreve  was  not  far  wrong. 
^A  touch  oF  Steele's  tenderness  is  worth  alFTiis  finery ;  a 
flash  of  Swift's  lightning,  a  beam  of  Addison's  pure  sun- 
shine, and  his  tawdry  playhouse  taper  is  invisible.    But  the 

is    ladies  loved  him,  and  he  was  undoubtedly  a  pretty  fellow. 

We  have  seen  in  Swift  a  humorous  philosopher,  whose 
truth  frightens  one,  and  whose  laughter  makes  one  melan- 
choly. We  have  had  in  Congreve  a  humorous  observer  of 
another  school,  to  whom  the  world  seems  to  have  no  morals 

20  at  all,  and  whose  ghastly  doctrine  seems  to  be  that  we 
should  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry  when  we  can,  and  go  to 
the  deuce  (if  there  be  a  deuce)  when  the  time  comes.  We 

«—  come  now  to  a  humor  that  flows  from  quite  a  different 
heart  and  spirit,  —  a  wit  that  makes  us  laugh  and  leaves 

25  us  good  and  happy;  to  one  of  the  kindest  benefactors  that 
society  has  ever  had ;  and  I  believe  you  have  divined 
already  that  I  am  about  to  mention  Addison's  honored 
name. 

From   reading  over   his   writings   and   the   biographies 

so    which  we  have  of  him,  amongst  which  the  famous  article 


CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON  79 

in  the  "  Edinburgh  Review  "  may  be  cited  as  a  magnificent 
statue  of  the  great  writer  and  moralist  of  the  last  age, 
raised  by  the  love  and  the  marvellous  skill  and  genius  of 
one  of  the  most  illustrious  artists  of  our  owrn,  —  looking 
at  that  calm,  fair  face  and  clear  countenance,  those 
chiselled  features  pure  and  cold,  I  cannot  but  fancy  that 
this  great  man  (in  this  respect,  like  him  of  whom  we 
spoke  in  the  last  lecture)  was  also  one  of  the  lonely  ones 
of  the  world.  Such  men  have  very  few  equals,  and  they 
do  not  herd  with  those.  It  is  in  the  nature  of  such  lords 
of  intellect  to  be  solitary.  They  are  in  the  world,  but  not 
of  it;  and  our  minor  struggles,  brawls,  successes,  pass 
under  them. 

Kind,  just,  serene,  impartial;  his  fortitude  not  tried 
beyond  easy  endurance;  his  affections  not  much  used,  for 
his  books  were  his  family,  and  his  society  was  in  public ; 
admirably  wiser,  wittier,  calmer,  and  more  instructed  than 
almost  every  man  with  whom  he  met,  —  how  could  Addi- 
son  suffer,  desire,  admire,  feel  much  ?  I  may  expect  a  child 
to  admire  me  for  being  taller  or  writing  more  cleverly  than 
she;  but  how  can  I  ask  my  superior  to  say  that  I  am  a 
wronder  when  he  knows  better  than  I?  In  Addison's  days- 
you  could  scarcely  show  him  a  literary  performance,  a  ser- 
mon, or  a  poem,  or  a  piece  of  literary  criticism,  but  he  felt 
he  could  do  better.  His  justice  must  have  made  him  indif- 
ferent. He  did  not  praise,  because  he  measured  his  com- 
peers by  a  higher  standard  than  common  people  have. 
How  was  he  wrho  was  so  tall  to  look  up  to  any  but  the 
loftiest  genius?  Hfe  must  have  stooped  to  put  himself  on 
a  level  with  most  men.  By  that  profusion  of  graciousness 
and  smiles  with  which  Goethe  or  Scott,  for  instance, 


80  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

greeted  almost  ever}/  literary  beginner,  —  every  small 
literary  adventurer  who  came  to  his  court  and  went  away 
charmed  from  the  great  king's  audience,  and  cuddling  to 
his  heart  the  compliment  which  his  literary  majesty  had 
paid  iiim,  —  each  of  the  two  good-natured  potentates  of 
letters  brought  their  star  and  ribbon  into  discredit.  Every- 
body had  his  majesty's  orders;  everybody  had  his  majesty's 
cheap  portrait  on  a  box  surrounded  by  diamonds  worth 
twopence  apiece.  A  very  great  and  just  and  wise  man 
ought  not  to  praise  indiscriminately,  but  give  his  idea  of 
the  truth.  Addison  praises  the  ingenious  Mr.  Pinketh- 
man;  Addison  praises  the  ingenious  Mr.  Doggett  the 
actor,  whose  benefit  is  coming  off  that  night;  Addison 
praises  Don  Saltero;  Addison  praises  Milton  with  all  his 
heart,  bends  his  knee  and  frankly  pays  homage  to  that 
imperial  genius.  But  between  those  degrees  of  his  men 
his  praise  is  very  scanty.  I  do  not  think  the  great  Mr. 
Addison  liked  young  Mr.  Pope,  the  Papist,  much.  I  doj 
not  think  he  abused  him;  but  when  Mr.  Addison's  men 
abused  Mr.  Pope,  I  do  not  think  Addison  took  his  pipe 
out  of  his  mouth  to  contradict  them. 

Addison's   father  was  a  clergyman   of   good   repute   in 
-Wiltshire,  and  rose  in  the  Church.     His  famous  son  never; 
lost  his  clerical  training  and  scholastic  gravity,  and  was] 
called  "  a  parson  in  a  tye-wig  "  in  London  afterwards,  at 
a  time  when  tye-wigs  were  only  worn  by  the  laity,  and 
the  fathers  of  theology  did  not  think  it  decent  to  appear 
except  in  a  full  bottom.     Having  been  at  school  at  Salis- 1 
bury  and  the  Charterhouse,  in  1687,  when  he  was  fifteen 
years  old,  he  went  to  Queen's  College,  Oxford,  where  he 
speedily  began   to  distinguish   himself  by  the  making  of 


CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON  81 

Latin  verses.  The  beautiful  and  fanciful  poem  of  "  The 
Pigmies  and  the  Cranes  "  is  still  read  by  lovers  of  that 
jsort  of  exercise;  and  verses  are  extant  in  honor  of  King 
William,  —  by  which  it  appears  that  it  was  the  loyal 

uth's  custom  to  toast  that  sovereign  in  bumpers  of  purple 
Lyaeus.     Many  more  works  are  in  the  Collection,  includ- 
ing one  on  the  Peace  of  Ryswick,  in  1697,  which  was  so- 
good  that  Montague  got  him  a  pension  of  <£300  a  year, 
on  which  Addison  set  out  on  his  travels. 

During  his  ten  years  at  Oxford,  Addison  had  deeply 
imbued  himself  with  the  Latin  poetical  literature,  and  had 
these  poets  at  his  fingers'  ends  when  he  travelled  in  Italy. 
His  patron  went  out  of  office,  and  his  pension  was  unpaid ; 
and  hearing  that  this  great  scholar,  now  eminent  and 
known  to  the  literati  of  Europe  (the  great  Boileau,  upon 
perusal  of  Mr.  Addison's  elegant  hexameters,  was  first 
made  aware  that  England  was  not  altogether, a  barbarous 
nation),  —  hearing  that  the  celebrated  Mr.  Addison,  of* 
Oxford,  proposed  to  travel  as  governor  to  a  young  gentle- 
man on  the  grand  tour,  the  great  Duke  of  Somerset 
proposed  to  Mr.  Addison  to  accompany  his  son,  Lord 
Hertford. 

Mr.  Addison  was  delighted  to  be  of  use  to  his  Grace, 
and  his  Lordship  his  Gracexs  son,  and  expressed  himself 
ready  to  set  forth. 

His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Somerset  now  announced  to  one 
of  the  most  famous  scholars  of  Oxford  and  Europe  that 
it  was  his  gracious  intention  to  allow  my  Lord  Hertford's 
tutor  one  hundred  guineas  per  annum.  Mr.  Addison 
wrote  back  that  his  services  were  his  Grace's,  but  he  by 
no  means  found  his  account  in  the*  recompense  for  them. 


82  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

The  negotiation  was  broken  off.    They  parted  with  a  pro- 
fusion of  congees  on  one  side  and  the  other. 

Addison  remained  abroad  for  some  time,  living  in  the  j 
best  society  of  Europe.     How  could  he  do  otherwise  ?     He  j 

-,  must  have  been  one  of  the  finest  gentlemen  the  world  ever  ; 
saw,  —  at  all  moments  of  life  serene  and  courteous,^ 
cheerful  and  calm.  He  could  scarcely  ever  have  had  a  j 

—  degrading  thought.  He  might  have  omitted  a  virtue  or 
two,  or  many,  but  could  not  have  committed  many  faults 

10    for  which  he  need  blush  or  turn  pale.     When  warmed 

--  into  confidence,  his  conversation  appears  to  have  been  so 

delightful  that  the  greatest  wits  sat  rapt  and  charmed  to 

listen  to  him.     No  man  bore  poverty  and  narrow  fortune 

with  a  more  lofty  cheerfulness.     His  letters  to  his  friends 

ir,  at  this  period  of  his  life,  when  he  had  lost  his  government 
pension  and  given  up  his  college  chances,  are  full  of  cour- 
age and  a  gay  confidence  and  philosophy;  and  they  are 
none  the  worse  in  my  eyes,  and  I  hope  not  in  those  of  his 
last  and  greatest  biographer  (though  Mr.  Macaulay  is 

•  bound  to  own  and  lament  a  certain  weakness  for  wine, 
which  the  great  and  good  Joseph  Addison  notoriously 
possessed,  in  common  ^  with  countless  gentlemen  of  his 
time),  because  some  of  the  letters  are  written  when  his 
honest  hand  was  shaking  a  little  in  the  morning  after  liba- 

23  tions  to  purple  Lyaeus  overnight.-  He  was  fond  of  drink- 
ing the  healths  of  his  friends.  He  writes  to  Wyche,  of 
Hamburg,  gratefully  remembering  Wyche 's  "  hoc."  "  I 
have  been  drinking  your  health  to-day  with  Sir  Richard 
Shirley,"  he  writes  to  Bathurst.  "  I  have  lately  had  the 

so  honor  to  meet  my  Lord  Effingham  at  Amsterdam,  where 
we  have  drunk  Mr.  Wood's  health  a  hundred  times  in 


CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON  83 

excellent  champagne,"  he  writes  again.  Swift  describes 
him  over  his  cups,  when  Joseph  yielded  to  a  temptation 
which  Jonathan  resisted.  Joseph  was  of  a  cold  nature, 
and  needed  perhaps  the  fire  of  wine  to  warm  his  blood. 
If  he  was  a  parson,  he  wore  a  tye-wig,  recollect.  A  better 
and  more  Christian  man  scarcely  ever  breathed  than  Jo-"* 
seph  Addison.  If  he  had  not  that  little  weakness  for  wine, 
—  why,  we  could  scarcely  have  found  a  fault  with  him, 
and  could  not  have  liked  him  as  we  do. 

At  thirty-three  years  of  age,  this  most  distinguished  wit,-* 
scholar,  and  gentleman  was  without  a  profession  and  an 
income.  His  book  of  Travels  had  failed ;  his  "  Dialogues 
on  Medals"  had  had  no  particular  success;  his  Latin 
verses,  even  though  reported  the  best  since  Virgil,  or 
Statius  at  any  rate,  had  not  brought  him  a  government 
place ;  and  Addison  was  living  up  twx)  shabby  pair  of  ** 
stairs  in  the  Haymarket  (in  a  poverty  over  which  old 
Samuel  Johnson  rather  chuckles),  when  in  these  shabby 
rooms  an  emissary  from  Government  and  Fortune  came 
and  found  him.  A  poem  was  wanted  about  the  Duke  of  ~~ 
Marlborough's  victory  of  Blenheim.  Would  Mr.  Addi- 
son write  one?  Mr.  Boyle,  afterwards  Lord  Carleton, 
took  back  the  reply  to  the  Lord  Treasurer  Godolphin, 
that  Mr.  Addison  would.  When  the  poem  had  reached 
a  certain  stage,  it  was  carried  to  Godolphin ;  and  the  last 
lines  which  he  read  were  these : — 

"  But,  O  my  Muse !  what  numbers  wilt  thou  find 
To  sing  the  furious  troops  in  battle  joined? 
Methinks  I  hear  the  drum's  tumultuous  "sound, 
The  victors'  shouts,  and  dying  groans  confound, 
The  dreadful  burst  of  cannon  rend  the  skies, 


84  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

And  all  the  thunder  of  the  battle  rise. 

'T  was  then  great  Marlborough's  mighty  soul  was  proved, 

That  in  the  shock  of  charging  hosts  unmoved, 

Amidst  confusion,  horror,  and  despair, 
3  Examined  all  the  dreadful  scenes  of  war; 

In  peaceful  thought  the  field  of  death  surveyed, 

To  fainting  squadrons  sent  the  timely  aid, 

Inspired  repulsed  battalions  to  engage, 

And  taught  the  doubtful  battle  where  to  rage. 
10  So  when  an  angel,  by  divine  command, 

With  rising  tempests  shakes  a  guilty  land 

(Such  as  of  late  o'er  pale  Britannia  passed), 

Calm  and  serene  he  drives  the  furious  blast; 

And,  pleased  the  Almighty's  orders  to  perform, 
15  Rides  in  the  whirlwind  and  directs  the  storm." 

Addison  left  off  at  a  good  moment.     That  simile  was! 
pronounced  to  be  of  the  greatest  ever  produced  in  poetry. 

—  That  angel,  that  good  angel,  flew  off  with  Mr.  Addison, 
and  landed  him  in  the  place  of  Commissioner  of  Appeals,  | 

•_•«    -  —  vice"M.r.  Locke  providentially  promoted.     In  the  fol-l 
lowing  year  Mr.  Addison  went  to  Hanover  with  Lord  j 
Halifax,  and  the  year  after  was  made  Under-Secretary  of 
State.     O  angel  visits!  you  come  "  few  and  far  between  " 
to    literary    gentlemen's    lodgings!      Your    wings    seldom 

-3    quiver  at  second-floor  windows  now! 

You   laugh?     You   think   it   is   in   the   power   of   few] 
writers  nowadays  to  call  up  such  an  angel  ?     Well,  per- 
haps not ;  but  permit  us  to  comfort  ourselves  by  pointing  j 
out  that  there  are  in  the  poem  of  the  "  Campaign  -"  some  | 

so    as  bad  lines  as  heart  can  desire,   and  to  hint  that  Mr.l 
Addison  did  very  wisely  in  not  going  further  with  my"! 
Lord   Godolphin   than   that   angelical   simile.      Do   allow 
me,  just  for  a  little  harmless  mischief,  to  read  you  some 


CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON  85 

of  the  lines  which  follow.  Here  is  the  interviewr 
between  the  Duke  and  the  King  of  the  Romans  after  the 
battle : —  » 

"  Austria's  young  monarch,  whose  imperial  sway, 
Sceptres  and  thrones  are  destined  to  obey, 
Whose  boasted  ancestry  so  high  extends 
That  in  the  Pagan  Gods  his  lineage  ends, 
Comes  from  afar,   in  gratitude  to  own 
The  great  supporter  of  his  father's  throne. 
What  tides  of  glory  to  his  bosom  ran 
Clasped  in  th'  embraces  of  the  godlike  man! 
How  were  his  eyes  with  pleasing  wonder  fixt, 
To  see  such  fire  with  so  much  sweetness  mixt! 
Such   easy  greatness,   such   a  graceful   port, 
So  turned  and  finished  for  the  camp  or  court!" 

How  many  fourth-form  boys  at  Mr.  Addison's  school 
of  Charterhouse  could  write  as  well  as  that  now?  The 
"  Campaign  "  has  blunders,  triumphant  as  it  was ;  and 
weak  points,  like  all  campaigns. 

In  the  year  1713 -" -  Cato  "  came  out.  Swift  has  left  a 
description  of  the  first  night  of  the  performance.  All  the 
laurels  of  Europe  were  scarcely  sufficient  for  the  author 
of  this  prodigious  poem,  —  laudations  of  Whig  and  Tory 
chiefs,  popular  ovations,  complimentary  garlands  from  lit- 
erary men,  translations  in  all  languages,  delight  and 
homage  from  all,  save  from  John  Dennis  in  a  minority  of 
one.  Mr.  Addison  was  called  the  "  great  Mr.  Addison  " 
after  this.  The  Coffee-house  Senate  saluted  him  Divus ; 
it  was  heresy  to  question  that  decree. 

Meanwhile  he  was  writing  political  papers  and  advanc- 
ing in  the  political  profession.  He  went  Secretary  to  Ire- 
land;  he  was  appointed  Secretary  of  State  in  1717;  and 


86  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

letters  of  his  are  extant,  bearing  date  some  year  or  two 
before,  and  written  to  young  Lord  Warwick,  in  which  he  < 
addresses  him  as  "  my  dearest  Lord,"  and  asks  affection-  ] 
ately   about   his   studies,    and   writes   very   prettily   about 

5  nightingales  and  birds'-nests,  which  he  has  found  at  Ful- 
ham  for  his  Lordship.  Those  nightingales  were  intended  ] 

— to  warble  in  the  ear  of  Lord  Warwick's  mamma.  Addi- 
son  married  her  Ladyship  in  1716,  and  died  at  Holland 
House  three  years  after  that  splendid  but  dismal  union. 

10         But  it  is  not  for  his  reputation  as  the  great  autkor  of 
"  Cato  "  and  the  "  Campaign,"  or  for  his  merits  as  Sec-  j 
retary  of  State,  or  for  his  rank  and  high  distinction  as  my 
Lady   Warwick's   husband,    or    for   his   eminence   as    an 
Examiner  of  political  questions  on  the  Whig  side,  or  a 

is    Guardian    of    British    liberties,    that    we    admire   Joseph 

tmr  Addison.     It  is  as  a  TajtlejL^jLsmjlljialk  and  a  Spectator 

of  mankind  that  \ve  cherish  and  love  him,  and  owe  as 

much  pleasure  to  him  as  to  any  human  being  that  ever 

-   wrote.     He  came  in  that  artificial  age,  and  began  to  speak 

bo  with  his  noble,  natural  voice.  He  came,  the  gentle  satir- 
ist, who  hit  no  unfair  blow;  the  kind  judge,  who  casti- 
gated only  in  smiling.  While  SwTift  went  about  hanging! 
and  ruthless,  a  literary  Jeffreys,  in  Addison's  kind  court! 
only  minor  cases  were  tried ;  only  peccadilloes  and  small 

25  sins  against  society ;  only  a  dangerous  libertinism  in  tuckers 
and  hoops,  or  a  nuisance  in  the  abuse  of  beaux'  canes  and 
snuff-boxes.  It  may  be  a  lady  is  tried  for  breaking  the 
peace  of  our  sovereign  lady  Queen  Anne,  and  ogling  too 
dangerously  from  the  side-box;  or  a  Templar  for  beating 

so  the  watch,  or  breaking  Priscian's  head ;  or  a  citizen's  wife 
for  caring  too  much  for  the  puppet-show,  and  too  little 


CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON  87 

for  her  husband  and  children.  Every  one  of  the  little 
sinners  brought  before  him  is  amusing,  and  he  dismisses 
each  with  the  pleasantest  penalties  and  the  most  charming 
words  of  admonition. 

Addison  wrote  his  papers  as  gayly  as  if  he  was  going 
out  for  a  holiday.  When  Steele's  "  Tatler  "  first  began  his 
prattle,  Addison,  then  in  Ireland,  caught  at  his  friend's 
notion,  poured  in  paper  after  paper,  and  contributed  the 
stores  of  his  mind,  the  sweet  fruits  of  his  reading,  the 
delightful  gleanings  of  his  daily  observation,  with  a  won- 
derful profusion,  and  as  it  seemed  an  almost  endless 
fecundity.  He  was  six-and-thirty  years  old,  full  and  ripe. 
He  had  not  worked  crop  after  crop  from  his  brain,  manur- 
ing hastily,  subsoiling  indifferently,  cutting  and  sowing 
and  cutting  again,  like  other  luckless  cultivators  of  letters. 
He  had  not  done  much  as  yet,  —  a  few  Latin  poems, 
graceful  prolusions ;  a  polite  book  of  travels ;  a  dissertation 
on  medals,  not  very  deep ;  four  acts  of  a  tragedy,  a  great 
classical  exercise;  and  the  "  Campaign,"  a  large  prize 
poem  that  won  an  enormous  prize.  But  with  his  friend's., 
discovery  of  the  "  Tatler  "  Addison 's  calling  was  found, 
and  the  most  delightful  talker  in  the  world  began  to  speak. 
He  does  not  go  very  deep:  let  gentlemen  of  a  profound 
genius,  critics  accustomed  to  the  plunge  of  the  bathos, 
console  themselves  by  thinking  that  he  could  not  go  very 
deep.  There  are  no  traces  of  suffering  in  his  writingT^' 
he  was  so  good,  so  honest,  so  healthy,  so  cheerfully  selfish, 
if  I  must  use  the  word.  There  is  no  deep  sentiment.  I 
doubt,  until  after  his  marriage,  perhaps,  whether  he  ever 
lost  his  night's  rest  or  his  day's  tranquillity  about  any 
woman  in  his  life ;  whereas  poor  Dick  Steele  had  capacity 


88  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

enough  to  melt  and  to  languish  and  to  sigh,  and  to  cry 
his  honest  old  eyes  out,  for  a  dozen.  His  writings  do  not 
show  insight  into  or  reverence  for  the  love  of  women, 
which  I  take  to  be  one  the  consequence  of  the  other.  He 

5  walks  about  the  world  watching  their  pretty  humors, 
fashions,  follies,  flirtations,  rivalries,  and  noting  them  with 
the  most  charming  archness.  He  sees  them  in  public,  in 
the  theatre,  or  the  assembly,  or  the  puppet-show;  or  at 
the  toy-shop,  higgling  for  gloves  and  lace;  or  at  the  auc- 

...  tion,  battling  together  over  a  blue  porcelain  dragon  or  a 
darling  monster  in  Japan;  or  at  church,  eyeing  the  width 
of  their  rivals'  hoops  or  the  breadth  of  their  laces  as  they 
sweep  down  the  aisles.  Or  he  looks  out  of  his  window, 
at  the  Garter  in  Saint  James's  Street,  at  Ardelia's  coach, 

i.-,  as  she  blazes  to  the  drawing-room  with  her  coronet  and 
six  footmen,  and  remembering  that  her  father  was  a  Tur- 
key merchant  in  the  City,  calculates  how  many  sponges 
went  to  purchase  her  earring,  and  how  many  drums  of 
figs  to  build  her  coach-box;  or  he  demurely  watches 

20  behind  a  tree  in  Spring  Garden  as  Saccharissa  (whom  he 
knows  under  her  mask)  trips  out  of  her  chair  to  the  alley 
where  Sir  Fopling  is  waiting.  He  sees  only  the  public 
life  of  women.  Addison  was  one  of  the  most  resolute 
club-men  of  his  day;  he  passed  many  hours  daily  in  those 

23  haunts.  Besides  drinking,  —  which,  alas !  is  past  praying 
for,  —  it  must  be  owned,  ladies,  that  he  indulged  in  that 

-** odious  practice  of  smoking.  Poor  fellow!  He  was  a 
man's  man,  remember.  The  only  woman  he  did  know, 
he  did  not  write  about.  I  take  it  there  would  not  have 

3»    been  much  humor  in  that  story. 

He  likes  to  go  on  and  sit  in  the  smoking-room  at  the 


CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON  89 

Grecian  or  the  Devil;  to  pace  'Change  and  the  Mall,  to 
mingle  in  that  great  club  of  the  world,  —  sitting  alone  in 
it  somehow,  having  good-will  and  kindness  for  every  single 
man  and  woman  in  it,  having  need  of  some  habit  and 
custom  binding  him  to  some  few;  never  doing  any  man  a 
wrong  (unless  it  be  a  wrong  to  hint  a  little  doubt  about 
a  man's  parts,  and  to  damn  him  with  faint  praise).  And 
so  he  looks  on  the  world,  and  plays  with  the  ceaseless 
humors  of  all  of  us;  laughs  the  kindest  laugh;  points 
our  neighbor's  foible  or  eccentricity  out  to  us  with  the 
most  good-natured  smiling  confidence,  and  then,  turning 
over  his  shoulder,  whispers  our  foibles  to  our  neighbor. 
What  would  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  be  without  his  follies 
and  his  charming  little  brain-cracks?  If  the  good  knight 
did  not  call  out  to  the  people  sleeping  in  church,  and  say 
"Amen  "  with  such  a  delightful  pomposity;  if  he  did  not 
make  a  speech  in  the  assize-court  a  propos  de  bottes,  and 
merely  to  show  his  dignity  to  Mr.  Spectator ;  if  he  did  not 
mistake  Madam  Doll  Tearsheet  for  a  lady  of  quality  in 
Temple  Garden ;  if  he  were  wiser  than  he  is ;  if  he  had 
not  his  humor  to  salt  his  life,  and  were  but  a  mere  Eng- 
lish gentleman  and  game-preserver,  —  of  what  worth 
were  he  to  us?  We  love  him  for  his  vanities  as  much  as 
for  his  virtues.  What  is  ridiculous  is  delightful  in  him; 
we  are  so  fond  of  him  because  we  laugh  at  him  so.  And 
out  of  that  laughter,  and  out  of  that  sweet  weakness,  and 
out  of  those  harmless  eccentricities  and  follies,  and  out 
of  that  touched  brain,  and  out  of  that  honest  manhood 
and  simplicity,  we  get  a  result  of  happiness,  goodness, 
tenderness,  pity,  piety,  —  such  as,  if  my  audience  will 
think  their  reading  and  hearing  over,  doctors  and  divines 


90  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

but  seldom  have  the  fortune  to  inspire.  And  why  noti 
Is  the  glory  of  heaven  to  be  sung  only  by  gentlemen  in 
black  coats?  Must  the  truth  be  only  expounded  in  gown 
and  surplice,  and  out  of  those  two  vestments  can  nobody 
preach  it?  Commend  me  to  this  dear  preacher  without 
orders,  —  this  parson  in  the  tye-wig.  When  this  man 
looks  from  the  world,  whose  weaknesses  he  describes  so 
benevolently,  up  to  the  heaven  which  shines  over  us  all, 
I  can  hardly  fancy  a  human  face  lighted  up  with  a  more 
serene  rapture,  a  human  intellect  thrilling  with  a  purer 
love  and  adoration,  than  Joseph  Addison's.  Listen  to 
him!  From  your  childhood  you  have  known  the  verses; 
but  who  can  hear  their  sacred  music  without  love  and  awe  ? 

"  Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail, 
The  moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale, 
And  nightly  to  the  listening  earth 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth; 
Whilst  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn, 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn, 
Confirm  the  tidings  as  they  roll, 
And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 

"  What  though,  in  solemn  silence,  all 
Move  round  the  dark  terrestrial  ball ; 
What  though  no  real  voice  nor  sound 
Amid  their  radiant  orbs  be  found; 
In  reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice; 
Forever  singing  as  they  shine, 
The  hand  that  made  us  is  divine." 

It  seems  to  me  those  verses  shine  like  the  stars.     They 
shine    out   of    a    great,    deep   calm.      When    he    turns    to 


CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON  91 

heaven,  a  Sabbath  comes  over  that  man's  mind,  and  his 
face  lights  up  from  it  with  a  glory  of  thanks  and  prayer. 
His  sense  of  religion  stirs  through  his  whole  being.  In 
the  fields,  in  the  towTn;  looking  at  the  birds  in  the  trees, 
at  the  children  in  the  streets;  in  the  morning  or  in  the 
moonlight ;  over  his  books  in  his  own  room ;  in  a  happy 
party  at  a  country  merry-making  or  a  towrn  assembly,  — 
good-will  and  peace  to  God's  creatures,  and  love  and  awe 
of  Him  who  made  them,  fill  his  pure  heart  and  shine  from 
his  kind  face.  If  Swift's  life  was  the  most  wretched,  I 
think  Addison's  was  one  of  the  most  enviable,  —  a  life 
prosperous  and  beautiful,  a  calm  death,  an  immense  fame 
and  affection  afterwards  for  his  happy  and  spotless  name. 


LECTURE  THE  THIRD 

STEELE 

What  do  we  look  for  in  studying  the  history  of  a  past 
age?  Is  it  to  learn  the  political  transactions  and  characters 
of  the  leading  public  men?  Is  it  to  make  ourselves 
acquainted  with  the  life  and  being  of  the  time?  If  we 
set  out  with  the  former  grave  purpose,  where  is  the  truth, 
and  who  believes  that  he  has  it  entire?  What  character 
of  what  great  man  is  known  to  you?  You  can  but  make 
guesses  as  to  character  more  or  less  happy.  In  common 
.  life  don't  you  often  judge  and  misjudge  a  man's  whole 
conduct,  setting  out  from  a  wrong  impression  ?  The  tone 
of  a  voice,  a  word  said  in  joke,  or  a  trifle  in  behavior,  the 
cut  of  his  hair  or  the  tie  of  his  neckcloth,  may  disfigure 
him  in  your  eyes  or  poison  your  good  opinion ;  or  at  the 
end  of  years  of  intimacy  it  may  be  your  closest  friend  says 
something,  reveals  something  which  had  previously  been 
a  secret,  which  alters  all  your  views  about  him,  and  shows 
that  he  has  been  acting  on  quite  a  different  motive  to  that 
which  you  fancied  you  knew.  And  if  it  is  so  with  those 
you  know,  how  much  more  with  those  you  do  not  know? 
Say,  for  example,  that  I  want  to  understand  the  character 
of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough :  I  read  Swift's  history  of  the 
times  in  which  he  took  a  part.  The  shrewdest  of  observers, 
and  initiated,  one  would  think,  into  the  politics  of  the  age, 
he  hints  to  me  that  Marlborough  was  a  coward,  and  even 
of  doubtful  military  capacity;  he  speaks  of  Walpole  as  a 

92 


STEELE  93 

contemptible  boor,  and  scarcely  mentions,  except  to  flout 
it,  the  great  intrigue  of  the  Queen's  latter  days,  which 
was  to  have  ended  in  bringing  back  the  Pretender.  Again, 
I  read  Marlborough's  Life  by  a  copious  archdeacon,  who 
has  the  command  of  immense  papers,  of  sonorous  language, 
of  what  is  called  the  best  information ;  and  I  get  little  or 
no  insight  into  this  secret  motive  which  I  believe  influenced 
the  whole  of  Marlborough's  career,  which  caused  his  turn- 
ings and  windings,  his  opportune  fidelity  and  treason, 
stopped  his  army  almost  at  Paris  gate,  and  landed  him 
finally  on  the  Hanoverian  side,  —  the  winning  side.  I 
get,  I  say,  no  truth,  or  only  a  portion  of  it,  in  the  narrative 
of  either  writer,  and  believe  that  Coxe's  portrait  or  Swift's 
portrait  is  quite  unlike  the  real  Churchill.  I  take  this  as 
a  single  instance,  prepared  to  be  as  sceptical  about  any 
other,  and  say  to  the  Muse  of  History:  "O  venerable 
daughter  of  Mnemosyne!  I  doubt  every  single  statement 
you  ever  made  since  your  ladyship  was  a  Muse.  For  all 
your  grave  airs  and  high  pretensions,  you  are  not  a  whit 
more  trustworthy  than  some  of  your  lighter  sisters  on 
whom  your  partisans  look  down.  You  bid  me  listen  to  a 
general's  oration  to  his  soldiers:  Nonsense!  He  no  more 
made  it  than  Turpin  made  his  dying  speech  at  Newgate. 
You  pronounce  a  panegyric  on  a  hero:  I  doubt  it,  and 
say  you  flatter  outrageously.  You  utter  the  condemnation 
of  a  loose  character;  I  doubt  it,  and  think  you  are  preju- 
diced, and  take  the  side  of  the  Dons.  You  offer  me  an  auto- 
biography: I  doubt  all  autobiographies  I  ever  read,  except 
those  perhaps  of  Mr.  Robinson  Crusoe,  Manner,  and 
writers  of  his  class.  These  have  no  object  in  setting  them- 
selves right  with  the  public  or  their  own  consciences ;  these 


94  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

have  no  motive  for  concealment  or  half-truths;  these  call 
for  no  more  confidence  than  I  can  cheerfully  give,  and  do 
not  force  me  to  tax  rny  credulity  or  to  fortify  it  by  evi- 
dence. I  take  up  a  volume  of  Doctor  Smollett,  or  a  vol- 
ume of  the  "  Spectator,"  and  say  the  fiction  carries  a 
greater  amount  of  truth  in  solution  than  the  volume  which 
purports  to  be  all  true.  Out  of  the  fictitious  book  I  get  the 
expression  of  the  life  of  the  time,  —  of  the  manners,  of  the 
movement,  the  dress,  the  pleasures,  the  laughter,  the  ridi- 
cules of  society;  the  old  times  live  again,  and  I  travel  in  the 
old  country  of  England.  Can  the  heaviest  historian  do 
more  for  me?  " 

As  we  read  in  these  delightful  volumes  of  the  "  Tatler  " 
and  "  Spectator  "  the  past  age  returns,  —  the  England  of 
our  ancestors  is  revivified.  The  Maypole  rises  in  the 
Strand  again  in  London;  the  churches  are  crowded  with 
daily  worshippers;  the  beaux  are  gathering  in  the  coffee- 
houses; the  gentry  are  going  to  the  Drawing-room;  the 
ladies  are  thronging  to  the  toy-shops;  the  chairmen  are 
jostling  in  the  streets;  the  footmen  are  running  with  links 
before  the  chariots,  or  fighting  round  the  theatre  doors. 
In  the  country  I  see  the  young  Squire  riding  to  Eton  with 
his  servants  behind  him,  and  Will  Wimble  the  friend  of 
the  family  to  see  him  safe.  To  make  that  journey  from 
the  Squire's  and  back,  Will  is  a  week  on  horseback.  The 
coach  takes  five  days  between  London  and  Bath.  The 
judges  and  the  bar  ride  the  circuit.  If  my  Lady  comes  to 
town  in  her  post-chariot,  her  people  carry  pistols  to  fire  a 
salute  on  Captain  Macheath  if  he  should  appear,  and  her 
couriers  ride  ahead  to  prepare  apartments  for  her  at  the 
great  caravansaries  on  the  road;  Boniface  receives  her 


STEELE  95 

under  the  creaking  sign  of  the  Bell  or  the  Ram,  and  he 
and  his  chamberlains  bow  her  up  the  great  stair  to  the 
state  apartments,  whilst  her  carriage  rumbles  into  the 
courtyard,  where  the  Exeter  Fly  is  housed  that  performs 
the  journey  in  eight  days,  God  willing,  having  achieved 
its  daily  flight  of  twenty  miles,  and  landed  its  passengers 
for  supper  and  sleep.  The  curate  is  taking  his  pipe  in  the 
kitchen,  where  the  Captain's  man  —  having  hung  up  his 
master's  half-pike  —  is  at  his  bacon  and  eggs,  bragging  of 
Ramillies  and  Malplaquet  to  the  townsfolk,  who  have 
their  club  in  the  chimney-corner.  The  Captain  is  ogling 
the  chambermaid  in  the  wooden  gallery,  or  bribing  her  to 
know  who  is  the  pretty  young  mistress  that  has  come  in 
the  coach.  The  pack-horses  are  in  the  great  stable,  and 
the  drivers  and  hostlers  carousing  in  the  tap.  And  in  Mrs. 
Landlady's  bar,  over  a  glass  of  strong  waters,  sits  a 
gentleman  of  military  appearance,  who  travels  with 
pistols,  as  all  the  rest  of  the  world  does,  and  has  a 
rattling  gray  mare  in  the  stables  which  will  be  saddled 
and  away  with  its  owner  half-an-hour  before  the  Fly 
sets  out  on  its  last  day's  flight.  And  some  five  miles 
on  the  road,  as  the  Exeter  Fly  comes  jingling  and 
creaking  onwards,  it  will  suddenly  be  brought  to  a  halt 
by  a  gentleman  on  a  gray  mare,  with  a  black  vizard 
on  his  face,  who  thrusts  a  long  pistol  into  the  coach  win- 
dow, and  bids  the  company  to  hand  out  their  purses.  .  .  . 
It  must  have  been  no  small  pleasure  even  to  sit  in  the 
great  kitchen  in  those  days,  and  see  the  tide  of  humankind 
pass  by.  We  arrive  at  places  now,  but  we  travel  no  more. 
Addison  talks  jocularly  of  a  difference  of  manner  and 
costume  being  quite  perceivable  at  Staines,  where  there 


96  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

passed  a  young  fellow  "  with  a  very  tolerable  periwig," 
though,  to  be  sure,  his  hat  was  out  of  fashion,  and  had  a 
Ramillies  cock.  I  would  have  liked  to  travel  in  those 
days  (being  of  that  class  of  travellers  who  are  proverbially 
pretty  easy  coram  latronibus) ,  and  have  seen  my  friend 
with  the  gray  mare  and  the  black  vizard.  Alas!  there 
always  came  a  day  in  the  life  of  that  warrior  when  it  was 
the  fashion  to  accompany  him  as  he  passed — without  his 
black  mask,  and  with  a  nosegay  in  his  hand,  accompanied 
by  halberdiers  and  attended  by  the  sheriff  —  in  a  carriage 
without  springs  and  a  clergyman  jolting  beside  him,  to  a 
spot  close  by  Cumberland  Gate  and  the  Marble  Arch, 
where  a  stone  still  records  that  here  Tyburn  turnpike 
stood.  What  a  change  in  a  century  —  in  a  few  years ! 
Within  a  few  yards  of  that  gate  the  fields  began,  —  the 
fields  of  his  exploits,  behind  the  hedges  of  which  he  lurked 
and  robbed.  A  great  and  wealthy  city  has  grown  over 
those  meadows.  Were  a  man  brought  to  die  there  now, 
the  windows  would  be  closed  and  the  inhabitants  keep 
their  houses  in  sickening  horror.  A  hundred  years  back, 
people  crowded  to  see  that  last  act  of  a  highwayman's  life, 
and  make  jokes  on  it.  Swift  laughed  at  him,  grimly 
advising  him  to  provide  a  Holland  shirt  and  a  white  cap 
crowned  with  a  crimson  or  black  ribbon  for  his  exit;  to 
mount  the  cart  cheerfully,  shake  hands  with  the  hangman, 
and  so  —  farewell.  Gay  wrote  the  most  delightful  ballads, 
and  made  merry  over  the  same  hero.  Contrast  these  with 
the  writings  of  our  present  humorists!  Compare  those 
morals  and  ours,  those  manners  and  ours! 

We  cannot  tell  —  you  would  not  bear  to  be  told  - —  the 
whole    truth    regarding    those    men    and    manners.      You 


STEELE  97 

could  no  more  suffer  in  a  British  drawing-room,  under 
the  reign  of  Queen  Victoria,  a  fine  gentleman  or  fine  lady 
of  Queen  Anne's  time,  or  hear  what  they  heard  and  said, 
than  you  would  receive  an  ancient  Briton.  It  is  as  one 
reads  about  savages  that  one  contemplates  the  wild  ways, 
the  barbarous  feasts,  the  terrific  pastimes,  of  the  men  of 
pleasure  of  that  age.  We  have  our  fine  gentlemen  and 
our  "  fast  men ;"  permit  me  to  give  you  an  idea  of  one 
particularly  fast  nobleman  of  Queen  Anne's  days,  whose 
biography  has  been  preserved  to  us  by  the  lawr  reporters. 
In  1691,  when  Steele  was  a  boy  at  school,  my  Lord 
Mohun  was  tried  by  his  peers  for  the  murder  of  William 
Mountford,  comedian.  In  "  Howell's  State  Trials,"  the 
reader  will  find  not  only  an  edifying  account  of  this 
exceedingly  fast  nobleman,  but  of  the  times  and  manners 
of  those  days.  My  Lord's  friend,  a  Captain  Hill,  smitten 
with  the  charms  of  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  and 
anxious  to  marry  her  at  aH  hazards,  determined  to  carry 
her  off,  and  for  this  purpose  hired  a  hackney-coach  with 
six-  horses  and  a  half-dozen  of  soldiers  to  aid  him  in  the 
storm.  The  coach  with  a  pair  of  horses  (the  four  leaders 
being  in  waiting  elsewhere)  took  its  station  opposite  my 
Lord  Craven's  house  in  Drury  Lane,  by  which  door  Mrs. 
Bracegirdle  was  to  pass  on  her  way  from  the  theatre.  As 
she  passed  in  company  of  her  mamma  and  a  friend,  Mr. 
Page,  the  Captain  seized  her  by  the  hand,  the  soldiers 
hustled  Mr.  Page  and  attacked  him  sword  in  hand,  and 
Captain  Hill  and  his  noble  friend  endeavored  to  force 
Madam  Bracegirdle  into  the  coach.  Mr.  Page  called  for 
help;  the  population  of  Drury  Lane  rose.  It  was  impossi- 
ble to  effect  the  capture ;  and  bidding  the  soldiers  go  about 


98  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

their  business  and  the  coach  to  drive  off,  Hill  let  go  of 
his  prey,  sulkily,  and  he  waited  for  other  opportunities  of 
revenge.  The  man  of  whom  he  was  most  jealous  was 
Will  Mountford,  the  comedian.  Will  removed,  he 
thought  Mrs.  Bracegirdle  might  be  his;  and  accordingly 
the  Captain  and  his  Lordship  lay  that  night  in  wait  for 
Will,  and  as  he  was  coming  out  of  a  house  in  Norfolk 
street,  while  Mohun  engaged  him  in  talk,  Hill,  in  the 
words  of  the  Attorney-General,  made  a  pass  and  ran  him 
clean  through  the  body. 

Sixty-one  of  my  Lord's  peers  finding  him  not  guilty  of 
murder,  while  but  fourteen  found  him  guilty,  this  very 
fast  nobleman  was  discharged,  and  made  his  appearance 
seven  years  after  in  another  trial  for  murder;  when  he, 
my  Lord  Warwick,  and  three  gentlemen  of  the  military 
profession,  were  concerned  in  the  fight  which  ended  in  the 
death  of  Captain  Coote. 

This  jolly  company  were  drinking-  together  in  Lockit's 
at  Charing  Cross,  when  angry  w^ords  arose  between  Cap- 
tain Coote  and  Captain  French,  whom  my  Lord  Mohun 
and  my  Lord  the  Earl  of  Warwick  and  Holland  endeav- 
ored to  pacify.  My  Lord  Warwick  was  a  dear  friend  of 
Captain  Coote,  lent  him  a  hundred  pounds  to  buy  his 
commission  in  the  Guards.  Once  when  the  Captain  was 
arrested  for  £13  by  his  tailor,  my  Lord  lent  him  five 
guineas,  often  paid  his  reckoning  for  him,  and  showed  him 
other  offices  of  friendship.  On  this  evening,  the  dispu- 
tants, French  and  Coote,  being  separated  whilst  they  were 
upstairs,  unluckily  stopped  to  drink  ale  again  at  the  bar 
of  Lockit's.  The  row  began  afresh.  Coote  lunged  at 
French  over  the  bar;  and  at  last  all  six  called  for  chairs, 


STEELE  99 

and  went  to  Leicester  Fields,  where  they  fell  to.  Their 
Lordships  engaged  on  the  side  of  Captain  Coote.  My 
Lord  of  Warwick  was  severely  wounded  in  the  hand ; 
Mr.  French  also  was  stabbed;  but  honest  Captain  Coote 
got  a  couple  of  wounds,  —  one  especially,  "  a  wound  in 
the  left  side  just  under  the  short  ribs,  and  piercing  through 
the  diaphragma,"  which  did  for  Captain  Coote.  Hence 
the  trials  of  my  Lords  Warwick  and  Mohun ;  hence  the 
assemblage  of  peers,  the  report  of  the  transaction  in  which 
these  defunct  fast  men  still  live  for  the  observation  of 
the  curious.  My  Lord  of  Warwick  is  brought  to  the 
bar  by  the  Deputy-Governor  of  the  Tower  of  London, 
having  the  axe  carried  before  him  by  the  gentleman 
jailer,  who  stood  with  it  at  the  bar  at  the  right  hand  of 
the  prisoner,  turning  the  edge  from  him  —  the  prisoner, 
at  his  approach,  making  three  bows,  one  to  his  Grace 
the  Lord  High  Steward,  the  other  to  the  peers  on  each 
hand ;  and  his  Grace  and  the  peers  return  the  salute. 
And  besides  these  great  personages,  august  in  periwigs 
and  nodding 'to  the  right  and  left,  a  host  of  the  small 
come  up  out  of  the  past  and  pass  before  us,  —  the  jolly 
captains  brawling  in  the  tavern,  and  laughing  and  curs- 
ing over  their  cups;  the  drawer  that  serves,  the  bar-girl 
that  waits,  the  bailiff  on  the  prowl,  the  chairmen  trudging 
through  the  black,  lampless  streets,  and  smoking  their 
pipes  by  the  railings,  whilst  swords  are  clashing  in  the 
garden  within.  "  Help  there!  a  gentleman  is  hurt!" 
The  chairmen  put  up  their  pipes,  and  help  the  gentleman 
over  the  railings,  and  carry  him,  ghastly  and  bleeding, 
to  the  Bagnio  in  Long  Acre,  where  they  knock  up  the 
surgeon,  a  pretty  tall  gentleman ;  but  that  wound  under 
the  short  ribs  has  done  for  him. 


100  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

Surgeon,  lords,  captains,  bailiffs,  chairmen,  and  gentle- 
man jailer  with  your  axe,  where  be  you  now?  The 
gentleman  axeman's  head  is  off  his  own  shoulders;  the 
lords  and  judges  can  wag  theirs  no  longer;  the  bailiff's 
writs  have  ceased  to  run ;  the  honest  chairmen's  pipes 
are  put  out,  and  with  their  brawny  calves  they  have 
walked  away  into  Hades.  All  is  irrecoverably  done  for 
as  Will  Mountford  or  Captain  Coote.  The  subject  of 
our  night's  lecture  saw  all  these  people,  rode  in  Captain 
Coote's  company  of  the  Guards  very  probably,  wrote 
and  sighed  for  Bracegirdle,  went  home  tipsy  in  many 
a  chair,  after  many  a  bottle,  in  many  a  tavern,  and  fled 
from  many  a  bailiff. 

In  1709,  when  the  publication  of  the  "  Tatler " 
began,  our  great-great-grandfathers  must  have  seized  upon 
that  new  and  delightful  paper  with  much  such  eagerness 
as  lovers  of  light  literature  in  a  later  day  exhibited 
when  the  Waverley  novels  appeared,  upon  which  the 
public  rushed,  —  forsaking  that  feeble  entertainment  of 
which  the  Miss  Porters,  the  Anne  of  Swanseas,  and 
worthy  Mrs.  Radcliffe  herself,  with  her  dreary  castles 
and  exploded  old  ghosts,  had  had  pretty  much  the 
monopoly.  I  have  looked  over  many  of  the  comic  books 
with  which  our  ancestors  amused  themselves,  —  from  the 
novels  of  Swift's  coadjutrix,  Mrs.  Manley,  the  delectable 
author  of  the  "  New  Atlantis,"  to  the  facetious  produc- 
tions of  Tom  Durfey  and  Tom  Brown  and  Ned  Ward, 
writer  of  the  "  London  Spy,"  and  several  other  volumes 
of  ribaldry.  The  slang  of  the  taverns  and  ordinaries, 
the  wit  of  the  bagnios,  form  the  strongest  part  of  the 
farrago  of  which  these  libels  are  composed.  In  the 


STEELE-  101 

excellent  newspaper  collection  at  the  British  Museum 
you  may  see,  besides  the  "  Craftsmen"  and  "  Postboy," 
specimens  —  and  queer  specimens  they  are  —  of  the  higher 
literature  of  Queen  Anne's  time.  Here  is  an  abstract 
from  a  notable  journal  bearing  date  Wednesday,  October 
13,  1708,  and  entitled  "The  British  Apollo;  Or,  Curious 
Amusements  for  the  Ingenious,  by  a  Society  of  Gen- 
tlemen." The  "  British  Apollo  "  invited  and  professed 
to  answer  questions  upon  all  subjects  of  wit,  morality, 
science,  and  even  religion ;  and  two  out  of  its  four  pages 
are  filled  with  queries  and  replies  much  like  some  of 
the  oracular  penny  prints  of  the  present  time. 

One  of  the  first  querists,  referring  to  the  passage 
that  a  bishop  should  be  the  husband  of  one  wife,  argues 
that  polygamy  is  justifiable  in  the  laity.  The  Society 
of  Gentlemen  conducting  the  "  British  Apollo  "  are 
posed  by  this  casuist,  and  promise  to  give  him  an  answer. 
Celinda  then  wishes  to  know  from  "  the  gentlemen," 
concerning  the  souls  of  the  dead,  whether  they  shall 
have  the  satisfaction  to  know  those  whom  they  most 
valued  in  this  transitory  life.  The  gentlemen  of  the 
"  Apollo  "  give  but  cold  comfort  to  poor  Celinda.  They 
are  inclined  to  think  not;  for,  say  they,  since  every 
inhabitant  of  those  regions  will  be  infinitely  dearer  than 
here  are  our  nearest  relatives,  what  have  we  to  do  with 
a  partial  friendship  in  that  happy  place?  Poor  Celinda! 
it  may  have  been  a  child  or  a  lover  whom  she  had  lost 
and  was  pining  after,  when  the  oracle  of  "  British 
Apollo  "  gave  her  this  dismal  answer.  She  has  solved 
the  question  for  herself  by  this  time,  and  knows  quite 
as  well  as  the  Society  of  Gentlemen. 


102  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

From  theology  we  come  to  physics,  and  Q.  asks,  "  Why 
does  hot  water  freeze  sooner  than  cold?"'  Apollo 
replies:  "  Hot  water  cannot  be  said  to  freeze  sooner 
than  cold ;  but  water  once  heated  and  cold  may  be  sub- 
ject to  freeze  by  the  evaporation  of  the  spirituous  parts 
of  the  water,  which  renders  it  less  able  to  withstand 
the  power  of  frosty  weather." 

The  next  query  is  rather  a  delicate  one.  "  You, 
Mr.  Apollo,  who  are  said  to  be  the  God  of  Wisdom, 
pray  give  us  the  reason  why  kissing  is  so  much  in 
fashion,  what  benefit  one  receives  by  it,  and  who  was 
the  inventor,  and  you  will  oblige  Corinna."  To  this 
•  queer  demand  the  lips  of  Phoebus,  smiling,  answer: 
"  Pretty,  innocent  Corinna!  Apollo  owns  that  he  was 
a  little  surprised  by  your  kissing  question,  particularly 
at  that  part  of  it  where  you  desire  to  know  the  benefit 
you  receive  by  it.  Ah,  madam!  had  you  a  lover,  you 
would  not  come  to  Apollo  for  a  solution,  since  there  is 
no  dispute  but  the  kisses  of  mutual  lovers  give  infinite 
satisfaction.  As  to  its  invention,  it  is  certain  Nature 
was  its  author,  and  it  began  with  the  first  courtship." 

After  a  column  more  of  questions,  follow  nearly  two 
pages  of  poems,  signed  by  Philander,  Ardelia,  and  the 
like,  and  chiefly  on  the  tender  passion;  and  the  paper 
winds  up  with  a  letter  from  Leghorn,  an  account  of 
the  Duke  of  Marlborough  and  Prince  Eugene  before 
Lille,  and  proposals  for  publishing  two  sheets  on  the 
present  state  of  Ethiopia,  by  Mr.  Hill,  —  all  of  which 
is  printed  for  the  authors  by  J.  Mayo,  at  the  Printing 
Press  against  Walter  Lane  in  Fleet  Street.  What 
a  change  it  must  have  been  —  how  Apollo's  oracles  must 


STEELE  103 

have  ]peen  struck  dumb  —  when  the  "  Tatler  "  appeared, 
and  scholars,  gentlemen,  men  of  the  world,  men  of  genius, 
began  to  speak! 

Shortly  before  the  Boyne  was  fought,  and  young 
Swift  had  begun  to  make  acquaintance  with  English 
Court  manners  and  English  servitude  in  Sir  William 
Temple's  family,  another  Irish  youth  was  brought  to 
learn  his  humanities  at  the  old  school  of  Charterhouse, 
near  Smithfield ;  to  which  foundation  he  had  been 
appointed  by  James  Duke  of  Ormond,  a  governor  of  the 
House,  and  a  patron  of  the  lad's  family.  The  boy  was 
an  orphan,  and  described  twenty  years  after,  with  a 
sweet  pathos  and  simplicity,  some  of  the  earliest  recollec- 
tions of  a  life  which  was  destined  to  be  checkered  by  a 
strange  variety  of  good  and  evil  fortune. 

I  am  afraid  no  good  report  could  be  given  by  his 
masters  and  ushers  of  that  thick-set,  square-faced,  black- 
eyed,  soft-hearted  little  Irish  boy.  He  wras  very  idle. 
He  was  whipped  deservedly  a  great  number  of  times. 
Though  he  had  very  good  parts  of  his  own,  he  got  other 
boys  to  do  his  lessons  for  him,  and  only  took  just  as 
much  trouble  as  should  enable  him  to  scuffle  through  his 
exercises,  and  by  good  fortune  escape  the  flogging-block. 
One  hundred  and  fifty  years  after  I  have  myself  inspected, 
but  only  as  an  amateur,  that  instrument  of  righteous 
torture  still  existing  and  in  occasional  u$e  in  a  secluded 
private  apartment  of  the  old  Charterhouse  School,  and 
have  no  doubt  it  is  the  very  counterpart,  if  not  the 
ancient  and  interesting  machine  itself,  at  which  poor 
Dick  Steele  submitted  himself  to  the  tormentors. 

Besides  being  very  kind,  lazy,  and  good-natured,   this 


104  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

boy  went  invariably  into  debt  with  the  tart-womafi;  ran 
out  of  bounds,  and  entered  into  pecuniary  or  rather 
promissory  engagements  with  the  neighboring  lollipop 
venders  and  piemen;  exhibited  an  early  fondness  and 
capacity  for  drinking  mum  and  sack,  and  borrowed  from 
all  his  comrades  who  had  money  to  lend.  I  have  no 
sort  of  authority  for  the  statements  here  made  of  Steele's 
early  life ;  but  if  the  child  is  father  of  the  man,  —  the 
father  of  young  Steele  of  Merton,  who  left  Oxford 

0  without  taking  a  degree,  and  entered  the  Life  Guards; 
the  father  of  Captain  Steele  of  Lucas's  Fusiliers,  who 
got  his  company  through  the  patronage  of  my  Lord 
Cutts;  the  father  of  Mr.  Steele  the  Commissioner  of 
Stamps,  the  editor  of  the  "  Gazette,"  the  "  Tatler,"  and 

s  "  Spectator,"  the  expelled  Member  of  Parliament,  and 
the  author  of  the  "  Tender  Husband  "  and  the  "  Conscious 
Lovers,"  —  if  man  and  boy  resembled  each  other,  Dick 
Steele  the  schoolboy  must  have  been  one  of  the  most 
generous,  good-for-nothing,  amiable  little  creatures  that 
ever  conjugated  the  verb  tupto,  "  I  beat,"  tuptomai,  "  I 
am  whipped,"  in  any  school  in  Great  Britain. 

Almost  every  gentleman  who  does  me  the  honor  to 
hear  me  will  remember  that  the  very  greatest  character 
which  he  has  seen  in  the  course  of  his  life,  and  the 

5  person  to  whom  he  has  looked  up  with  the  greatest 
wonder  and  reverence,  was  the  head  boy  at  his  school. 
The  schoolmaster  himself  hardly  inspires  such  an  awe. 
The  head  boy  construes  as  well  as  the  schoolmaster  him- 
self. When  he  begins  to  speak  the  hall  is  hushed,  and 

o  every  little  boy  listens.  He  writes  off  copies  of  Latin 
verses  as  melodiously  as  Virgil.  He  is  good-natured,  and, 


STEELE  105 

his  own  masterpiece  achieved,  pours  out  other  copies  of 
verses  for  other  boys  with  an  astonishing  ease  and 
fluency,  —  the  idle  ones  only  trembling  lest  they  should 
be  discovered  on  giving  in  their  exercises,  and  whipped 
because  their  poems  were  too  good.  I  have  seen  great 
men  in  my  time,  but  never  such  a  great  one  as  that 
head  boy  of  my  childhood ;  we  all  thought  he  must  be 
Prime  Minister,  and  I  was  disappointed  on  meeting  him 
in  after  life  to  find  he  was  no  more  than  six  feet  high. 

Dick  Steele,  the  Charterhouse  gownboy,  contracted  such 
an  admiration  in  the  years  of  his  childhood,  and  retained 
it  faithfully  through  his  life.  Through  the  school  and 
through  the  world,  whithersoever  his  strange  fortune 
led  this  erring,  wayward,  affectionate  creature,  Joseph 
Addison  was  always  his  head  boy.  Addison  wrote  his 
exercises;  Addison  did  his  best  themes.  He  ran  on 
Addison's  messages;  fagged  for  him,  and  blacked  his 
shoes.  To  be  in  Joe's  company  was  Dick's  greatest 
pleasure;  and  he  took  a  sermon  or  a  caning  from  his 
monitor  with  the  most  boundless  reverence,  acquiescence, 
and  affection. 

Steele  found  Addison  a  stately  college  Don  at  Oxford, 
and  himself  did  not  make  much  figure  at  this  place. 
He  wrote  a  comedy,  which  by  the  advice  of  a  friend  the 
humble  fellow  burned  there,  and  some  verses,  which  I 
dare  say  are  as  sublime  as  other  gentlemen's  compositions 
at  that  age ;  but  being  smitten  with  a  sudden  love  for 
military  glory,  he  threw  up  the  cap  and  gown  for  the 
saddle  and  bridle,  and  rode  privately  in  the  Horse  Guards, 
in  the  Duke  of  Ormond's  troop  (the  second)  and  prob- 
ably with  the  rest  of  the  gentlemen  of  his  troop,  —  "  all 


106  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

mounted  on  black  horses  with  white  feathers  in  their 
hats,  and  scarlet  coats  richly  laced,"  —  marched  by  King 
William  in  Hyde  Park  in  November,  1699,  and  a  great 
show  of  the  nobility,  besides  twenty  thousand  people 
and  above  a  thousand  coaches.  "  The  Guards  had  just 
got  their  new  clothes,"  the  London  "  Post"  said;  "  they 
are  extraordinary  grand,  and  thought  to  be  the  finest  body 
of  horse  in  the  world."  But  Steele  could  hardly  have 
seen  any  actual  service.  He  who  wrote  about  himself, 
his  mother,  his  wife,  his  loves,  his  debts,  his  friends,  and 
the  wine  he  drank,  would  have  told  us  of  his  battles 
if  he  had  seen  any.  His  old  patron,  Ormond,  probably 
got  him  his  cornetcy  in  the  Guards,  from  which  he  was 
promoted  to  be  a  captain  in  Lucas's  Fusiliers,  getting  his 
company  through  the  patronage  of  Lord  Cutts,  w^hose 
secretary  he  was,  and  to  whom  he  dedicated  his  work 
called  the  "  Christian  Hero."  As  poor  Dick,  whilst 
writing  this  ardent  devotional  work,  was  deep  in  debt, 
in  drink,  and  in  all  the  follies  of  the  town,  it  is  related 
that  all  the  officers  of  Lucas's  and  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Guards  laughed  at  Dick;  and  in  truth  a  theologian  in 
liquor  is  not  a  respectable  object,  and  a  hermit,  though  he 
may  be  out  at  elbows,  must  not  be  in  debt  to  the  tailor. 
Steele  says  of  himself  that  he  was  always  sinning  and 
repenting.  He  beat  his  breast  and  cried  most  piteously 
when  he  did  repent;  but  as  soon  as  crying  had  made 
him  thirsty,  he  fell  to  sinning  again.  In  that  charming 
paper  in  the  "  Tatler  "  in  which  he  records  his  father's 
death,  his  mother's  griefs,  his  own  most  solemn  and 
tender  emotions,  he  says  he  is  interrupted  by  the  arrival 
of  a  hamper  of  wine,  "  the  same  as  is  to  be  sold  at 


STEELE  107 

Garraway's  next  week,"  —  upon  the  receipt  of  which  he 
sends  for  three  friends,  and  they  fall  to  instantly,  "  drink- 
ing two  bottles  apiece,  with  great  benefit  to  themselves, 
and  not  separating  till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

His  life* was  so.  Jack  the  drawer  was  always  inter- 
rupting it,  bringing  him  a  bottle  from  the  Rose,  or  inviting 
him  over  to  a  bout  there  with  Sir  Plume  and  Mr.  Diver; 
and  Dick  wiped  his  eyes,  which  were  whimpering  over 
his  papers,  took  down  his  laced  hat,  put  on  his  sword 
and  wig,  kissed  his  wife  and  children,  told  them  a  lie 
about  pressing  business,  and  went  off  to  the  Rose  to  the 
jolly  fellows. 

While  Mr.  Addison  was  abroad,  and  after  he  came 
home  in  rather  a  dismal  way  to  wait  upon  Providence 
in  his  shabby  lodging  in  the  Haymarket,  young  Captain 
Steele  was  cutting  a  much  smarter  figure  than  that  of 
his  classical  friend  of  Charterhouse  Cloister  and  Maudlin 
Walk.  Could  not  some  painter  give  an  interview  between 
the  gallant  Captain  of  Lucas's  with  his  hat  cocked,  and 
his  lace  (and  his  face  too)  a  trifle  tarnished  with  drink, 
and  that  poet,  that  philosopher,  pale,  proud,  and  poor,  his 
friend  and  monitor  of  schooldays,  of  all  days  ?  How  Dick 
must  have  bragged  about  his  chances  and  his  hopes,  and 
the  fine  company  he  kept,  and  the  charms  of  the  reigning 
toasts  and  popular  actresses,  and  the  number  of  bottles 
that  he  and  my  Lord  and  some  other  pretty  fellows 
had  cracked  over-night  at  the  Devil,  or  the  Garter! 
Cannot  one  fancy  Joseph  Addison's  calm  smile  and  cold 
gray  eyes  following  Dick  for  an  instant,  as  he  struts  down 
the  Mall  to  dine  with  the  Guard  at  Saint  James's,  before 
he  turns,  with  his  sober  pace  and  threadbare  suit,  to 


108  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

walk  back  to  his  lodgings  up  the  two  pair  of  stairs? 
Steele's  name  was  down  for  promotion  (Dick  always 
said  himself)  in  the  glorious,  pious,  and  immortal  Wil- 
liam's last  table-book.  Jonathan  Swift's  name  had  been 
written  there  by  the  same  hand,  too. 

Our  worthy  friend,  the  author  of  the  "  Christian 
Hero,"  continued  to  make  no  small  figure  about  town 
by  the  use  of  his  wits.  He  was  appointed  Gazetteer; 
he  wrote,  in  1703,  "  The  Tender  Husband,"  his  second 
play,  in  which  there  is  some  delightful  farcical  writing, 
and  of  which  he  fondly  owned  in  after  life,  and  when 
Addison  was  no  more,  that  there  were  "  many  applauded 
strokes  "  from  Addison 's  beloved  hand.  Is  it  not  a  pleasant 
partnership  to  remember?  Cannot  one  fancy  Steele,  full 
of  spirits  and  youth,  leaving  his  gay  company  to  go  to 
Addison's  lodging,  where  his  friend  sits  in  the  shabby 
sitting-room,  quite  serene  and  cheerful  and  poor?  In 
1704  Steele  came  on  the  town  with  another  comedy; 
and  behold  it  was  so  moral  and  religious,  as  poor  Dick 
insisted  (so  dull  the  town  thought),  that  the  "  Lying 
Lover  "  was  damned. 

Addison's  hour  of  success  now  came,  and  he  was  able 
to  help  our  friend  the  "  Christian  Hero  "  in  such  a  way, 
that,  if  there  had  been  any  chance  of  keeping  that  poor 
tipsy  champion  upon  his  legs,  his  fortune  was  safe  and 
his  competence  assured.  Steele  procured  the  place  of 
Commissioner  of  Stamps.  He  wrote  so  richly,  so  grace- 
fully often,  so  kindly  always,  with  such  a  pleasant  wit 
and  easy  frankness,  with  such  a  gush  of  good  spirits 
and  good  humor,  that  his  early  papers  may  be  compared 
to  Addison's  own,  and  are  to  be  read,  by  a  male  reader 
at  least,  with  quite  an  equal  pleasure. 


STEELE  109 

After  the  "  Tatler  "  in  1711,  the  famous  "  Spectator  " 
made  its  appearance;  and  this  was  followed,  at  various 
intervals,  by  many  periodicals  under  the  same  editor,  — 
the  "  Guardian;"  the  "  Englishman;"  the  "  Lover,"  whose 
love  was  rather  insipid;  the  "Reader,"  of  whom  the 
public  saw  no  more  after  his  second  appearance ;  the 
"  Theatre,"  under  the  pseudonym  of  Sir  John  Edgar, 
which  Steele  wrote  while  governor  of  the  Royal  Com- 
pany of  Comedians,  to  which  post,  and  to  that  of  Surveyor 
of  the  Royal  Stables  at  Hampton  Court,  and  to  the 
Commission  of  the  Peace  for  Middlesex,  and  to  the  honor 
of  knighthood,  Steele  had  been  preferred  soon  after  the 
accession  of  George  I.,  —  whose  cause  honest  Dick  had 
nobly  fought,  through  disgrace  and  danger,  against  the 
most  formidable  enemies,  against  traitors  and  bullies, 
against  Bolingbroke  and  Swift,  in  the  last  reign.  With 
the  arrival  of  the  King  that  splendid  conspiracy  broke 
up,  and  a  golden  opportunity  came  to  Dick  Steele,  whose 
hand,  alas!  was  too  careless  to  gripe  it. 

Steele    married    twice,    and    outlived    his    places,    his  \  / 
schemes,    his   wife,    his    income,    his    health,    and    almost  X 
everything  but  his  kind  heart.     That  ceased   to  trouble 
him  in   1729,  when  he  died,  worn  out  and  almost  for- 
gotten by  his  contemporaries,  in  Wales,  where  he  had  the 
remnant  of  a  property. 

Posterity  has  been  kinder  to  this  amiable  creature. 
All  women  especially  are  bound  to  be  grateful  to  Steele, 
as  he  was  the  first  of  our  writers  who  really  seemed  to 
admire  and  respect  them.  Congreve  the  Great,  who 
alludes  to  the  low  estimation  in  which  women  were  held 
in  Elizabeth's  time  as  a  reason  why  the  women  of 


110  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

Shakspere  make  so  small  a  figure  in  the  poet's  dialogues, 
though  he  can  himself  pay  splendid  compliments  to 
women,  yet  looks  on  them  as  mere  instruments  of  gallantry, 
and  destined,  like  the  most  consummate  fortifications,  to 

5  fall  after  a  certain  time  before  the  arts  and  bravery  of 
the  besieger,  man.  There  is  a  letter  of  Swift's  entitled 
"  Advice  to  a  very  Young  Married  Lady,"  which  shows 
the  Dean's  opinion  of  the  female  society  of  his  day,  and 
that  if  he  despised  man  he  utterly  scorned  women  too. 

10  No  lady  of  our  time  could  be  treated  by  any  man,  were 
he  ever  so  much  a  wit  or  Dean,  in  such  a  tone  of  insolent 
patronage  and  vulgar  protection.  In  this  performance 
Swift  hardly  takes  pains  to  hide  his  opinion  that  a 
woman  is  a  fool ;  tells  her  to  read  books,  as  if  reading 

is  was  a  novel  accomplishment,  and  informs  her,  that 
"  not  one  gentleman's  daughter  in  a  thousand  has  been 
brought  to  read  or  understand  her  own  natural  tongue." 
Addison  laughs  at  women  equally,  but  with  the  gen- 
tleness and  politeness  of  his  nature  smiles  at  them  and 

20  watches  them  as  if  they  w^ere  harmless,  half-witted, 
amusing,  pretty  creatures,  only  made  to  be  men's  play- 
things. It  was  Steele  who  first  began  to  pay  a  manly 
homage  to  their  goodness  and  understanding,  as  well  as 
to  their  tenderness  and  beauty.  In  his  comedies  the 

25  heroes  do  not  rant  and  rave  about  the  divine  beauties 
of  Gloriana  or  Statira,  as  the  characters  were  made  to 
do  in  the  chivalry  romances  and  the  high-flown  dramas 
just  going  out  of  vogue;  but  Steele  admires  women's 
virtue,  acknowledges  their  sense,  and  adores  their  purity 

so  and  beauty  with  an  ardor  and  strength  which  should 
win  the  good-will  of  all  women  to  their  hearty  and 


STEELE  111 

respectful  champion.  It  is  this  ardor,  this  respect,  this 
manliness,  which  makes  his  comedies  so  pleasant  and 
their  heroes  such  fine  gentlemen.  He  paid  the  finest 
compliment  to  a  woman  that  perhaps  ever  was  offered. 
Of  one  woman,  whom  Congreve  had  also  admired  and 
celebrated,  Steele  says  that  "  to  have  loved  her  was  a 
liberal  education."  "  How  often,"  he  says,  dedicating 
a  volume  to  his  wife,  "  how  often  has  your  tenderness 
removed  pain  from  my  sick  head,  how  often  anguish 
from  my  afflicted  heart!  If  there  are  such  beings  as 
guardian  angels,  they  are  thus  employed.  I  cannot 
believe  one  of  them  to  be  more  good  in  inclination,  or 
more  charming  in  form,  than  my  wife."  His  breast 
seems  to  warm  and  his  eyes  to  kindle  when  he  meets 
with  a  good  and  beautiful  woman,  and  it  is  with  his 
heart  as  well  as  with  his  hat  that  he  salutes  her.  About 
children,  and  all  that  relates  to  home,  he  is  not  less 
tender,  and  more  than  once  speaks  in  apology  of  what 
he  calls  his  softness.  He  would  have  been  nothing  with-  \ 
out  that  delightful  weakness.  It  is  that  which  gives  \ 
his  works  their  worth  and  his  style  its  charm.  It,  like 
his  life,  is  full  of  faults  and  careless  blunders,  and 
redeemed,  like  that,  by  his  sweet  and  compassionate 
nature. 

We  possess  of  poor  Steele's  wild  and  checkered  life 
some  of  the  most  curious  memoranda  that  ever  were 
left  of  a  man's  biography.  Most  men's  letters,  from 
Cicero  down  to  Walpole,  or  down  to  the  great  men  of 
our  time  if  you  will,  are  doctored  compositions,  and  writ- 
ten with  an  eye  suspicious  towards  posterity.  That 
dedication  of  Steele's  to  his  wife  is  an  artificial  per- 


112  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

formance,  possibly;  at  least,  it  is  written  with  that  degree 
of  artifice  which  an  orator  uses  in  arranging  a  state- 
ment for  the  House,  or  a  poet  employs  in  preparing  a 
sentiment  in  verse  or  for  the  stage.  But  there  are  some 
four  hundred  letters  of  Dick  Steele's  to  his  wife,  which 
that  thrifty  wToman  preserved  accurately,  and  which  could 
have  been  written  for  her  and  her  alone.  They  contain 
details  of  the  business,  pleasures,  quarrels,  reconcilia- 
tions, of  the  pair;  they  have  all  the  genuineness  of 
conversation ;  they  are  as  artless  as  a  child's  prattle, 
and  as  confidential  as  a  curtain-lecture.  Some  are 
written  from  the  printing-office,  where  he  is  waiting  for 
the  proof-sheets  of  his  "  Gazette "  or  his  "  Tatler"  ; 
some  are  written  from  the  tavern,  whence  he  promises 
to  come  to  his  wife  "  within  a  pint  of  wine,"  and 
where  he  has  given  a  rendezvous  to  a  friend  or  a  money- 
lender ;  some  are  composed  in  a  high  state  of  vinous 
excitement,  when  his  head  is  flustered  with  burgundy, 
and  his  heart  abounds  with  amorous  warmth  for  his 
darling  Prue;  some  are  under  the  influence  of  the  dismal 
headache  and  repentance  next  morning;  some,  alas!  are 
from  the  lock-up  house,  where  the  lawyers  have 
impounded  him,  and  where  he  is  waiting  for  bail.  You 
trace  many  years  of  the  poor  fellow's  career  in  these 
letters.  In  September,  1707,  from  which  day  she  began 
to  save  the  letters,  he  married  the  beautiful  Mistress 
Scurlock.  You  have  his  passionate  protestations  to  the 
lady,  his  respectful  proposals  to  her  mamma,  his  private 
prayer  to  Heaven  when  the  union  so  ardently  desired 
was  completed ;  his  fond  professions  of  contrition  and 
promises  of  amendment  when,  immediately  after  his 


STEELE  113 

marriage,  there  began  to  be  just  cause  for  the  one  and 
need  for  the  other. 

Captain  Steele  took  a  house  for  his  lady  upon  their 
marriage,  "  the  third  door  from  Germain  Street,  left 
hand  of  Berry  Street,"  and  the  next  year  he  presented 
his  wife  with  a  country  house  at  Hampton.  It  appears 
she  had  a  chariot  and  pair,  and  sometimes  four  horses ; 
he  himself  enjoyed  a  little  horse  for  his  own  riding. 
He  paid,  or  promised  to  pay,  his  barber  fifty  pounds  a 
year,  and  always  went  abroad  in  a  laced  coat  and  a  large 
black-buckled  periwig  that  must  have  cost  somebody  fifty 
guineas.  He  was  rather  a  well-to-do  gentleman,  Captain 
Steele,  with  the  proceeds  of  his  estates  in  Barbadoes 
(left  to  him  by  his  first  wife),  his  income  as  a  writer 
of  the  "  Gazette,"  and  his  office  of  gentleman  waiter  to 
his  Royal  Highness  Prince  George.  His  second  wife 
brought  him  a  fortune  too.  But  it  is  melancholy  to 
relate  that  with  these  houses  and  chariots  and  horses 
and  income  the  Captain  wras  constantly  in  want  of 
money,  for  which  his  beloved  bride  was  asking  as  con- 
stantly. In  the  course  of  a  few  pages  we  begin  to  find 
the  shoemaker  calling  for  money,  and  some  directions 
from  the  Captain,  who  has  not  thirty  pounds  to  spare. 
He  sends  his  wife,  "  the  beau ti fullest  object  in  the,wodd  " 
as  he  calls  her,  and  evidently  in  reply  to  applications  of 
her  own,  which  have  gone  the  way  of  all  waste  paper 
and  lighted  Dick's  pipes,  which  were  smoked  a  hundred 
and  forty  years  ago,  —  he  sends  his  wife  now  a  guinea, 
then  a  half-guinea,  then  a  couple  of  guineas,  then  half 
a  pound  of  tea;  and  again  no  money  and  no  tea  at 
all,  but  a  promise  that  his  darling  Prue  shall  have  some 


114  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

in  a  day  or  two;  or  a  request,  perhaps,  that  she  will 
send  over  his  night-gown  and  shaving-plate  to  the  tem- 
porary lodging  where  the  nomadic  Captain  is  lying, 
hidden  from  the  bailiffs.  Oh  that  a  Christian  hero  and 
late  Captain  in  Lucas's  should  be  afraid  of  a  dirty 
sheriff's  officer !  that  the  pink  and  pride  of  chivalry 
should  turn  pale  before  a  writ!  It  stands  to  record  in 
poor  Dick's  own  handwriting  (the  queer  collection  is 
preserved  at  the  British  Museum  to  this  present  day) 
that  the  rent  of  the  nuptial  house  in  Jermyn  Street, 
sacred  to  unutterable  tenderness  and  Prue,  and  three 
doors  from  Bury  Street,  was  not  paid  until  after  the 
landlord  had  put  in  an  execution  on  Captain  Steele's 
furniture.  Addison  sold  the  house  and  furniture  at 
Hampton,  and  after  deducting  the  sum  in  which  his 
incorrigible  friend  was  indebted  to  him,  handed  over 
the  residue  of  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  to  poor  Dick, 
who  was  not  in  the  least  angry  at  Addison's  summary 
proceeding,  and  I  dare  say  was  very  glad  of  any  sale 
or  execution,  the  result  of  which  was  to  give  him  a  little 
ready  money.  Having  a  small  house  in  Jermyn  Street 
for  which  he  could  not.  pay,  and  a  country  house  at 
Hampton  on  which  he  had  borrowed  money,  nothing 
must  content  Captain  Dick  but  the  taking,  in  1712,  a 
much  finer,  larger,  and  grander  house  in  Bloomsbury 
Square,  —  where  his  unhappy  landlord  got  no  better  sat- 
isfaction than  his  friend  in  Saint  James's,  and  where  it 
is  recorded  that  Dick,  giving  a  grand  entertainment, 
had  a  half-dozen  queer-looking  fellows  in  livery  to  wait 
upon  his  noble  guests,  and  confessed  that  his  servants 
were  bailiffs  to  a  man.  "  I  fared  like  a  distressed  prince," 


STEELE  115 

the  kindly  prodigal  writes,  generously  complimenting 
Addison  for  his  assistance  in  the  "  Tatler,"  —  "I  fared 
like  a  distressed  prince,  who  calls  in  a  powerful  neighbor 
to  his  aid.  I  was  undone  by  my  auxiliary:  when  I 
had  once  called  him  in,  I  could  not  subsist  without 
dependence  on  him."  Poor,  needy  Prince  of  Blooms- 
jbury!  think  of  him  in  his  palace,  with  his  allies  from 
Chancery  Lane  ominously  guarding  him. 

All  sorts  of  stories  are  told  indicative  of  his  reckless- 
ness and  his  good-humor.  One  narrated  by  Doctor 
Hoadly  is  exceedingly  characteristic ;  it  shows  the  life 
of  the  time,  and  our  poor  friend  very  weak,  but  very 
kind  both  in  and  out  of  his  cups. 

"  My  father,"  says  Doctor  John  Hoadly,  the  Bishop's  son, 
"  when  Bishop  of  Bangor,  was  by  invitation  present  at  one  of  the 
Whig  meetings  held  at  the  Trumpet,  in  Shoe  Lane,  when  Sir 
Richard  in  his  zeal  rather  exposed  himself,  having  the  double 
duty  of  the  day  upon  him,  —  as  well  to  celebrate  the  immortal 
memory  of  King  William,  it  being  the  4th  November,  as  to  drink 
his  friend  Addison  up  to  conversation  pitch,  whose  phlegmatic 
constitution  was  hardly  warmed  for  society  by  that  time.  Steele 
was  not  fit  for  it.  Two  remarkable  circumstances  happened. 
John  Sly,  the  hatter  of  facetious  memory,  was  in  the  house;  and, 
John,  pretty  mellow,  took  it  into  his  head  to  come  into  the  com- 
pany on  his  knees,  with  a  tankard  of  ale  in  his  hand  to  drink 
off  to  the  immortal  memory,  and  to  return  in  the  same  manner. 
Steele,  sitting  next  my  father,  whispered  him:  'Do  laugh!  It  is 
humanity  to  laugh.'  Sir  Richard  in  the  evening,  being  too  much 
in  the  same  condition,  was  put  into  a  chair  and  sent  home. 
Nothing  would  serve  him  but  being  carried  to  the  Bishop  of 
Bangor's,  late  as  it  was.  However,  the  chairmen  carried  him 
home,  and  got  him  upstairs,  when  his  great  complaisance  would 
wait  on  them  downstairs,  which  he  did,  and  then  was  got  quietly 
*o  bed." 


116  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

There  is  another  amusing  story,  which  I  believe  that 
renowned  collector  Mr.  Joseph  Miller,  or  his  successors, 
have  incorporated  into  their  work.  Sir  Richard  Steele, 
at  a  time  when  he  was  much  occupied  with  theatrical 
affairs,  built  himself  a  pretty  private  theatre,  and  before 
it  was  opened  to  his  friends  and  guests  w^as  anxious  to 
try  whether  the  hall  was  well  adapted  for  hearing. 
Accordingly  he  placed  himself  in  the  most  remote  part 
of  the  gallery,  and  begged  the  carpenter  who  had  built 
the  house  to  speak  up  from  the  stage.  The  man  at 
first  said  that  he  was  unaccustomed  to  public  speaking, 
and  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  his  Honor;  but  the 
good-natured  knight  called  out  to  him  to  say  whatever 
was  uppermost;  and  after  a  moment  the  carpenter  began, 
in  a  voice  perfectly  audible:  "  Sir  Richard  Steele!  "  he 
said,  "  for  three  months  past  me  and  my  men  has  been 
a  working  in  this  theatre,  and  we've  never  seen  the  color 
of  your  Honor's  money.  We  will  be  very  much  obliged 
if  you'll  pay  it  directly,  for  until  you  do  we  won't 
drive  in  another  nail."  Sir  Richard  said  that  his  friend's 
elocution  was  perfect,  but  that  he  didn't  like  his  subject 
much. 

The  great  charm  of  Steele's  writing  is  its  naturalness. 

/He  wrote  so  quickly  and  carelessly  that  he  was  forced" 

Ito  make  the  reader  his  confidant,  and  had  not  the  time 

I  to  deceive  him.     He  had  a  small  share  of  book-learning, 

but  a  vast  acquaintance  with  the  world.     He  had  known 

men  and  taverns.      He  had  lived  with   gownsmen,  with 

troopers,  with  gentlemen  ushers  of  the  Court,  with  men 

and    women    of    fashion,    with    authors    and    wits,    with 

the   inmates   of   the   sponging-houses,    and   with    the   fre- 


STEELE  117 

quenters  of  all  the  clubs  and  coffee-houses  in  the  town. 
He  was  liked  in  all  company  because  he  liked  it;  and 
you  like  to  see  his  enjoyment  as  you  like  to  see  the 
glee  of  a  box  full  of  children  at  the  pantomime.  He 
wras  not  of  those  lonely  ones  of  the  earth  whose 
greatness  obliged  them  to  be  solitary;  on  the  contrary, 
he  admired,  I  think,  more  than  any  man  who  ever 
wrote,  and,  full  of  hearty  applause  and  sympathy,  wins 
upon  you  by  calling  you  to  share  his  delight  and  good- 
humor.  His  laugh  rings  through  the  whole  house. 
|  He  must  have  been  invaluable  at  a  tragedy,  and  have 
cried  as  much  as  the  most  tender  young  lady  in  the 
boxes.  He  has  a  relish  for  beauty  and  goodness  wherever 
he  meets  it.  He  admired  Shakspere  affectionately,  and 
more  than  any  man  of  his  time  and  according  to  his 
generous  expansive  nature  called  upon  all  his  company 
to  like  what  he  liked  himself.  He  did  not  damn  with 
faint  praise:  he  was  in  the  w^orld  and  of  it;  and  his 
enjoyment  of  life  presents  the  strangest  contrast  to  Swift's 
^savage  indignation  and  Addison's  lonely  serenity.  Permit 
me  to  read  to  you  a  passage  from  each  writer,  curiously 
indicative  of  his  peculiar  humor;  the  subject  is  the  same, 
and  the  mood  the  very  gravest.  We  have  said  that 
upon  all  the  actions  of  man,  the  most  trifling  and  the 
most  solemn,  the  humorist  takes  upon  himself  to  comment. 
All  readers  of  our  old  masters  know  the  terrible  lines 
of  Swift,  in  which  he  hints  at  his  philosophy  and  describes 
the  end  of  mankind :  — 

"  Amazed,  confused,  its  fate  unknown, 
The  world  stood  trembling  at  Jove's  throne. 
While  each  pale  sinner  hung  his  head, 


118  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

Jove,  nodding,  shook  the  heavens  and  said : 
*  Offending  race  of  human  kind, 

By  natiire,  reason,  learning,  blind ; 

You  who  through  frailty  stepped  aside, 
5  And  you  who  never  erred  through  pride; 

You  who  in  different  sects  \vere  shammed, 

And  come  to  see  each  other  damned 

(So  some  folk  told  you,  but  they  knew 

No  more  of  Jove's  designs  than  you), — 
„,  The  world's  mad  business  now  is  o'er, 

And  I  resent  your  freaks  no  more. 

/  to  such  blockheads  set  my  wit ; 

I  damn  such  fools  —  go,  go,  you're  bit!'" 

Addison  speaking  on   the  very  same  theme,   but  with 
i.-.    1  ow    different    a    voice,    says,    in    his    famous    paper    on 
Westminster  Abbey  ("  Spectator,"  No.  26)  :— 

"  For  my  own  part,  though  I  am  always  serious,  I  do  not  know 
what  it  is  to  be  melancholy,  and  can  therefore  take  a  view  of 
Nature  in  her  deep  and  solemn  scenes  with  the  same  pleasure  as 

a,  in  her  most  gay  and  delightful  ones.  When  I  look  upon  the 
tombs  of  the  great,  every  emotion  of  envy  dies  within  me ;  when 
I  read  the  epitaphs  of  the  beautiful,  every  inordinate  desire  goes 
out;  when  I  meet  with  the  grief  of  parents  on  a  tombstone,  my 
heart  melts  with  compassion ;  when  I  see  the  tomb  of  the  parents 

25  themselves,  I  consider  the  vanity  of  grieving  'for  those  we  must 
quickly  follow." 

I  have  owned  that  I  do  not  think  Addison's  heart 
melted  very  much,  or  that  he  indulged  very  inordinately 
in  the  "  vanity  of  grieving." 

30  "  When,"  he  goes  on,  "  when  I  see  kings  lying  by  those  who 
deposed  them ;  when  I  consider  rival  wits  placed  side  by  side,  or 
the  holy  men  that  divided  the  world  with  their  contests  and  dis- 
putes, —  I  reflect  with  sorrow  and  astonishment  on  the  little  com- 


STEELE  119 

petitions,  factions,  and  debates  of  mankind.  And  when  I  read 
the  several  dates  on  the  tombs  of  some  that  died  yesterday,  and 
some  six  hundred  years  ago,  I  consider  that  great  day  when  we 
shall  all  of  us  be  contemporaries,  and  make  our  appearance 
together." 

Our  third  humorist  comes  to  speak  upon  the  same 
subject.  You  will  have  observed  in  the  previous  extracts 
the  characteristic  humor  of  each  writer,  the  subject  and 
the  contrast,  the  fact  of  Death,  and  the  play  of  indi- 
vidual thought  by  which  each  comments  on  it;  and  nowr 
hear  the  third  writer,  —  death,  sorrow,  and  the  grave 
being  for  the  moment  also  his  theme. 

"  The  first  sense  of  sorrow  I  ever  knew,"  Steele  says  in  the 
"  Tatler,"  "  was  upon  the  death  of  my  father,  at  which  time  I  was 
not  quite  five  years  of  age,  but  was  rather  amazed  at  what  all  the 
house  meant,  than  possessed  of  a  real  understanding  why  nobody 
would  play  with  us.  I  remember  I  went  into  the  room  where  his 
body  lay,  and  my  mother  sat  weeping  alone  by  it.  I  had  my 
battledore  in  my  hand,  and  fell  a  beating  the  coffin  and  calling 
papa ;  for,  I  know  not  how,  I  had  some  idea  that  he  was  locked 
up  there.  My  mother  caught  me  in  her  arms,  and,  transported 
beyond  all  patience  of  the  silent  grief  she  was  before  in,  she 
almost  smothered  me  in  her  embraces,  and  told  me  in  a  flood  of 
tears,  *  Papa  could  not  hear  me,  and  would  play  with  me  no 
more ;  for  they  were  going  to  put  him  under  ground,  whence  he 
would  never  come  to  us  again.'  She  was  a  very  beautiful  woman, 
of  a  noble  spirit;  and  there  was  a  dignity  in  her  grief,  amidst 
all  the  wildness  of  her  transport,  which  methought  struck  me  with 
an  instinct  of  sorrow  that,  before  I  was  sensible  what  it  was  to 
grieve,  seized  my  very  soul,  and  has  made  pity  the  weakness  of 
my  heart  ever  since." 

Can  there  be  three  more  characteristic  moods  of 
minds  and  men?  "  Fools,  do  you  know  anything  of 


120  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

this  mystery?"  says  Swift,  stamping  on  a  grave,  and 
carrying  his  scorn  for  mankind  actually  beyond  it. 
"  Miserable,  purblind  wretches !  how  dare  you  to  pre- 
tend to  comprehend  the  Inscrutable,  and  how  can  your 

5  dim  eyes  pierce  the  unfathomable  depths  of  yonder 
boundless  heaven?  "  Addison,  in  a  much  kinder  language 
and  gentler  voice,  utters  much  the  same  sentiment,  and 
speaks  of  the  rivalry  of  wits  and  the  contests  of  holy 
men  with  the  same  sceptic  placidity.  "  Look  what  a  little 

10  vain  dust  we  are,"  he  says,  smiling  over  the  tombstones; 
and  catching,  as  is  his  wont,  quite  a  divine  effulgence 
as  he  looks  heavenward,  he  speaks,  in  words  of  inspira- 
tion almost,  of  "  the  Great  Day,  when  we  shall  all  of  us 
be  contemporaries,  and  make  our  appearance  together." 

ir.  The  third,  whose  theme  is  Death,  too,  and  who  will 
speak  his  word  of  moral  as  Heaven  teaches  him,  leads 
you  up  to  his  father's  coffin,  and  shows  you  his  beautiful 
mother  weeping,  and  himself  an  unconscious  little  boy 
wondering  at  her  side.  His  own  natural  tears  flow  as 

a>  he  takes  your  hand  and  confidingly  asks  your  sympathy. 
"  See  how  good  and  innocent  and  beautiful  women  are," 
he  says;  "how  tender  little  children!  Let  us  love  these 
and  one  another,  brother;  God  knows  we  have  need  of 
love  and  pardon." 

25  So  it  is  each  man  looks  with  his  own  eyes,  speaks 
with  his  own  voice,  and  prays  his  own  prayer. 

When  Steele  asks  your  sympathy  for  the  actors  in 
that  charming  scene  of  Love  and  Grief  and  Death,  who 
can  refuse  it?  One  yields  to  it  as  to  the  frank  advance 

so  of  a  child,  or  to  the  appeal  of  a  woman.  A  man  is  seldom 
more  manly  than  when  he  is  what  you  call  unmanned ; 


STEELE  121 

the  source  of  his  emotion  is  championship,  pity,  arid 
courage,  —  the  instinctive  desire  to  cherish  those  who  are 
innocent  and  unhappy,  and  defend  those  who  are  tender 
and  weak.  If  Steele  is  not  our  friend  he  is  nothing.  He 

&  by  no  means  the  most  brilliant  of  wits  or  the  deepest 
of  thinkers ;  but  he  is  our  friend :  we  love  him,  as  chil- 
dren love  their  love  with  an  A,  because  he  is  amiable. 
Who  likes  a  man  best  because  he  is  the  cleverest  or 
the  wisest  of  mankind;  or  a  woman  because  she  is  the 
most  virtuous,  or  talks  French,  or  plays  the  piano  better 
than  the  rest  of  her  sex?  I  own  to  liking  Dick  Steele  V 
the  man,  and  Dick  Steele  the  author,  much  better  than 

s.  much  better  men  and  much  better  authors. 

\The  misfortune  regarding  Steele  is  that  most  part 
of  the  company  here  present  must  take  his  amiability 
upon  hearsay,  and  certainly  cannot  make  his  intimate 
acquaintance.  Not  that  Steele  was  worse  than  his  time, 
—  on  the  contrary,  a  far  better,  truer,  and  higher-hearted 
man  than  most  who  lived  in  it.  But  things  were  done 
in  jhat  society,  and  names  were  named,  which  w^ould 
make  you  shudder  now.  What  would  be  the  sensation 
of  a  polite  youth  of  the  present  day,  if  at  a  ball  he 
saw  the  young  object  of  his  affections  taking  a  box 
out  of  her  pocket  and  a  pinch  of  snuff;  or  if  at  dinner, 
by  the  charmer's  side,  she  deliberately  put  her  knife 
into  her  mouth?  If  she  cut  her  mother's  throat  with  it, 
mamma  would  scarcely  be  more  shocked.  I  allude  to  these 
peculiarities  of  bygone  times  as  an  excuse  for  my  favorite 
Steele,  who  was  not  worse,  and  often  much  more  delicate, 
than  his  neighbors. 

There    exists    a    curious    document    descriptive    of    the 


122  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

manners  of  the  last  age,  which  describes  most  minutely 
the  amusements  and  occupations  of  persons  of  fashion 
in  London  at  the  time  of  which  we  are  speaking,  —  the 
time  of  Swift  and  Addison  and  Steele. 

When  Lord  Sparkish,  Tom  Neverout,  and  Colonel 
Alwit,  the  immortal  personages  of  Swrift's  polite  con- 
versation, came  to  breakfast  with  my  Lady  Smart  at 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  my  Lord  Smart  was 
absent  at  the  levee.  His  Lordship  was  at  home  to  dinner 
at  three  o'clock  to  receive  his  guests;  and  \ve  may  sit 
down  to  his  meal,  like  the  Barmecide's,  and  see  the  fops 
of  the  last  century  before  us.  Seven  of  them  sat  down 
at  dinner,  and  were  joined  by  a  country  baronet  who 
told  them  they  kept  Court  hours.  These  persons  of 
fashion  began  their  dinner  with  a  sirloin  of  beef,  fish,  a 
shoulder  of  veal,  and  a  tongue.  My  Lady  Smart  carved 
the  sirloin,  my  Lady  Answerall  helped  the  fish,  and 
the  gallant  Colonel  cut  the  shoulder  of  veal.  All  made 
a  considerable  inroad  on  the  sirloin  and  the  shoulder  of 
veal  with  the  exception  of  Sir  John,  who  had  no  appetite, 
having  already  partaken  of  a  beefsteak  and  two  mugs  of 
ale,  besides  a  tankard  of  March  beer  as  soon  as  he  got 
out  of  bed.  They  drank  claret,  which  the  master  of  the 
house  said  should  always  be  drunk  after  fish;  and  my 
Lord  Smart  particularly  recommended  some  excellent 
cider  to  my  Lord  Sparkish,  which  occasioned  some  bril- 
liant remarks  from  that  nobleman.  When  the  host 
called  for  wine,  he  nodded  to  one  or  other  of  his  guests, 
and  said,  "  Tom  Neverout,  my  service  to  you!" 

After  the  first  course  came  almond-pudding  and  fritters, 
which  the  Colonel  took  with  his  hands  out  of  the  dish 


STEELE  123 

in  order  to  help  the  brilliant  Miss  Notable;  chickens, 
black  puddings,  and  soup;  and  Lady  Smart,  the  elegant 
mistress  of  the  mansion,  finding  a  skewer  in  a  dish, 
placed  it  in  her  plate  with  directions  that  it  should  be 
carried  down  to  the  cook  and  dressed  for  the  cook's 
own  dinner.  Wine  and  small  beer  were  drunk  during 
this  second  course;  and  when  the  Colonel  called  for 
beer,  he  called  the  butler  "  Friend,"  and  asked  whether 
the  beer  was  good.  Various  jocular  remarks  passed 
from  the  gentlefolks  to  the  servants;  at  breakfast  several 
persons  had  a  word  and  a  joke  for  Mrs.  Betty,  my 
Lady's  maid,  who  warmed  the  cream  and  had  charge 
of  the  canister  (the  tea  cost  thirty  shillings  a  pound  in 
those  days).  When  my  Lady  Sparkish  sent  her  footman 
out  to  my  Lady  Match  to  come  at  six  o'clock  and  play 
at  quadrille,  her  Ladyship  warned  the  man  to  follow 
his  nose,  and  if  he  fell  by  the  way  not  to  stay  to  get  up 
again;  and  when  the  gentlemen  asked  the  hall  porter  if 
his  lady  was  at  home,  that  functionary  replied,  with 
manly  waggishness,  "  She  was  at  home  just  now,  but 
she's  not  gone  out  yet." 

After  the  puddings  sweet  and  black,  the  fritters  and 
soup,  came  the  third  course,  of  which  the  chief  dish 
was  a  hot  venison  pasty,  which  was  put  before  Lord 
Smart,  and  carved  by  that  nobleman.  Besides  the  pasty, 
there  was  a  hare,  a  rabbit,  some  pigeons,  partridges,  a 
goose,  and  a  ham.  Beer  and  wine  were  freely  imbibed 
during  this  course,  the  gentlemen  always  pledging  some- 
body with  every  glass  which  they  drank;  and  by  this 
time  the  conversation  between  Tom  Neverout  and  Miss 
Notable  had  grown  so  brisk  and  lively  that  the  Derby- 


124  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

shire  baronet  began  to  think  the  young  gentlewoman 
was  Tom's  sweetheart,  —  on  which  Miss  remarked 
that  she  loved  Tom  "  like  pie."  After  the  goose,  some 
of  the  gentlemen  took  a  dram  of  brandy,  "  which 

5  was  very  good  for  the  wholesomes,"  Sir  John  said; 
and  now  having  had  a  tolerably  substantial  dinner, 
honest  Lord  Smart  bade -the  butler  bring  up  the  great 
tankard  full  of  October  to  Sir  John.  The  great  tankard 
was  passed  from  hand  to  hand  and  mouth  to  mouth; 

10  but  when  pressed  by  the  noble  host  upon  the  gallant 
Tom  Neverout,  he  said,  "  No,  faith,  my  Lord ;  I  like 
your  wine,  and  won't  put  a  churl  upon  a  gentleman. 
Your  Honor's  claret  is  good  enough  for  me."  And 
so,  the  dinner  over,  the  host  said,  "  Hang  saving!  bring 

is    us  up  a  ha'porth  of  cheese." 

The  cloth  was  now  taken  away,  and  a  bottle  of 
burgundy  was  set  down,  of  which  the  ladies  were  invited 
to  partake  before  they  went  to  their  tea.  When  they 
withdrew,  the  gentlemen  promised  to  join  them  in  an 

20  hour.  Fresh  bottles  were  brought;  the  "dead  men," 
meaning  the  empty  bottles,  removed;  and  "  D'you  hear, 
John !  bring  clean  glasses,"  my  Lord  Smart  said.  On 
which  the  gallant  Colonel  Alwit  said,  "  I'll  keep  my 
glass;  for  wine  is  the  best  liquor  to  wash  glasses  in." 

23  After  an  hour  the  gentlemen  joined  the  ladies,  and 
then  they  all  sat  and  played  quadrille  until  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  when  the  chairs  and  the  flambeaux 
came,  and  this  noble  company  went  to  bed. 

Such    were    manners    six    or    seven    score    years    ago. 

so  I  draw  no  inference  from  this  queer  picture,  —  let  all 
moralists  here  present  deduce  their  own.  Fancy  the 


STEELE  f  125 

moral  condition  of  that  society  in  which  a  lady  of  fashion 
I  joked  with  a  footman  and  carved  a  sirloin,  and  provided, 
^besides,  a  great  shoulder  of  veal,  a  goose,  hare,  rabbit, 
chickens,  partridges,  black  puddings,  and  a  ham  for  a 
dinner  for  eight  Christians !  What  —  what  could  have 
been  the  condition  of  that  polite  world  in  which  people 
openly  ate  goose  after  almond-pudding,  and  took  their 
soup  in  the  middle  of  dinner?  Fancy  a  Colonel  in  the 
Guards  putting  his  hand  into  a  dish  of  beignets  d'abricot 
and  helping  his  neighbor,  a  young  lady  du  monde!  Fancy 
a  noble  lord  calling  out  to  the  servants,  before  the  ladies 
at  his  table,  "  Hang  expense!  bring  us  a  ha'porth  of 
cheese!"  Such  were  the  ladies  of  Saint  James's;  such 
were  the  frequenters  of  White's  Chocolate  House  when 
Swift  used  to  visit  it,  and  Steele  described  it  as  the 
centre  of  pleasure,  gallantry,  and  entertainment  a  hun- 
dred and  forty  years  ago! 

Dennis,  who  ran  amuck  at  the  literary  society  of 
his  day,  falls  foul  of  poor  Steele,  and  thus  depicts  him :  — 

*  Sir  John   Edgar,  of  the  county  of  in  Ireland,   is  of    a 

middle  stature,  broad  shoulders,  thick  legs,  a  shape  like  the  pic- 
ture of  somebody  over  a  farmer's  chimney,  a  short  chin,  a  short 
nose,  a  short  forehead,  a  broad  flat  face,  and  a  dusky  counte- 
nance. Yet  with  such  a  face  and  such  a  shape,  he  discovered  at 
sixty  that  he  took  himself  for  a  beauty,  and  appeared  to  be  more 
mortified  at  being  told  that  he  was  ugly  than  he  was  by  any 
reflection  made  upon  his  honor  or  understanding. 

"  He  is  a  gentleman  born,  witness  himself,  of  very  honorable 
family,  —  certainly  of  a  very  ancient  one,  for  his  ancestors  flour- 
ished in  Tipperary  long  before  the  English  ever  set  foot  in  Ire- 
land. He  has  testimony  of  this  more  authentic  than  the  Heralds' 
Office,  or  any  human  testimony;  for  God  has  marked  him  more 
abundantly  than  he  did  Cain,  and  stamped  his  native  country  on 


126  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

his  face,  his  understanding,  his  writings,  his  actions,  his  passions, 
and,  above  all,  his  vanity.  The  Hibernian  brogue  is  still  upon 
all  these,  though  long  habit  and  length  of  days  have  worn  it  off 
his  tongue." 

Although  this  portrait  is  the  work  of  a  man  who  was 
neither  the  friend  of  Steele  nor  of  any  other  man  alive, 
yet  there  is  a  dreadful  resemblance  to  the  original  in 
the  savage  and  exaggerated  traits  of  the  caricature ;  and 
everybody  who  knows  him  must  recognize  Dick  Steele. 
Dick  set  about  almost  all  the  undertakings  of  his  life 
with  inadequate  means ;  and  as  he  took  and  furnished 
a  house  with  the  most  generous  intentions  towards  his 
friends,  the  most  tender  gallantry  towards  his  wife,  and 
with  this  only  drawback  that  he  had  not  wherewithal 
to  pay  the  rent  when  quarter-day  came,  so  in  his  life 
he  proposed  to  himself  the  most  magnificent  schemes 
of  virtue,  forbearance,  public  and  private  good,  and  the 
advancement  of  his  own  and  the  national  religion.  But 
when  he  had  to  pay  for  these  articles,  so  difficult  to 
purchase  and  so  costly  to  maintain,  poor  Dick's  money 
was  not  forthcoming;  and  when  Virtue  called  with  her 
little  bill,  Dick  made  a  shuffling  excuse  that  he  could 
not  see  her  that  morning,  having  a  headache  from  being 
tipsy  over-night;  or  when  stern  Duty  rapped  at  the 
door  with  his  account,  Dick  was  absent  and  not  ready 
to  pay.  He  was  shirking  at  the  tavern,  or  had  some 
particular  business  (of  somebody's  else)  at  the  ordinary, 
or  he  was  in  hiding,  or,  worse  than  in  hiding,  in  the 
lock-up  house.  What  a  situation  for  a  man,  for  a  phi- 
lanthropist,  for  a  lover  of  right  and  truth,  for  a  magnificent 
designer  and  schemer,  —  not  to  dare  to  look  in  the  face 


STEELE  127 

the  religion  which  he  adored,  and  which  he  had  offended ; 
to  have  to  shirk  down  back  lanes  and  alleys,  so  as  to 
avoid  the  friend  whom  he  loved  and  who  had  trusted 
him;  to  have  the  house  which  he  had  intended  for  his 
wife  whom  he  loved  passionately,  and  for  her  Ladyship's 
company  which  he  wished  to  entertain  splendidly,  in  the 
possession  of  a  bailiff's  man,  with  a  crowd  of  little  cred- 
itors —  grocers,  butchers,  and  small-coal  men  —  lingering 
round  the  door  with  their  bills  and  jeering  at  him!  Alas 
for  poor  Dick  Steele!  For  nobody  else,  of  course. 
/There  is  no  man  or  woman  in  our  time  who  makes  fine 
[projects  and  gives  them  up  from  idleness  or  want  of 
means.  When  Duty  calls  upon  us,  we  no  doubt  are 
always  at  home  and  ready  to  pay  that  grim  tax-gatherer. 
When  we  are  stricken  with  remorse  and  promise  reform, 
we  keep  our  promise,  and  are  never  angry  or  idle  or 
extravagant  any  more.  There  are  no  chambers  in  our 
hearts  destined  for  family  friends  and  affections,  and 
now  occupied  by  some  Sin's  emissary  and  bailiff  in  pos- 
session. There  are  no  little  sins,  shabby  peccadilloes, 
importunate  remembrances,  or  disappointed  holders  of  our 
promises  to  reform,  hovering  at  our  steps  or  knocking  at 
our  door !  Of  course  not.  We  are  living  in  the  nineteenth 
century;  and  poor  Dick  Steele  stumbled  and  got  up 
again,  and  got  into  jail  and  out  again,  and  sinned  and 
repented,  and  loved  and  suffered,  and  lived  and  died, 
scores  of  years  ago.  Peace  be  with  him!  Let  us  think 
gently  of  one  who  was  so  gentle;  let  us  speak  kindly  of 
one  whose  own  breast  exuberated  with  human  kindness. 


LECTURE    THE    FOURTH 

PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE 

Matthew  Prior  was  one  of  those  famous  and  lucky 
wits  of  the  auspicious  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  whose  name  it 
behooves  us  not  to  pass  over.  Mat  was  a  wwld-philoso- 
pher  of  no  small  genius,  good-nature,  and  acumen.  He 

5  loved,  he  drank,  he  sang.  He  describes  himself,  in  one  of 
his  lyrics,  "  in  a  little  Dutch  chaise  on  a  Saturday  night; 
on  his  left  hand  his  Horace,  and  a  friend  on  his  right," 
going  out  of  town  from  The  Hague  to  pass  that  evening 
and  the  ensuing  Sunday  boozing  at  a  Spielhaus  with 

10  his  companions,  perhaps  bobbing  for  perch  in  a  Dutch 
canal,  and  noting  down,  in  a  strain  and  with  a  grace  not 
unworthy  of  his  Epicurean  master,  the  charms  of  his 
idleness,  his  retreat,  and  his  Batavian  Chloe.  A  vintner's 
son  in  Whitehall,  and  a  distinguished  pupil  of  Busby  of 

15  the  Rod,  Prior  attracted  some  notice  by  writing  verses 
at  Saint  John's  College,  Cambridge,  and  coming  up  to 
town  aided  Montague  in  an  attack  on  the  noble  old 
English  lion  John  Dryden,  in  ridicule  of  whose  work, 
"  The  Hind  and  the  Panther,"  he  brought  out  that 

2o    remarkable    and    famous    burlesque,    ' '  The    Town    and 
Country  Mouse."     Are  not  you  all  acquainted  with  it? 
Have   you   not   all   got   it   by   heart?     What!   have   you 
never  heard   of   it?      See  what   fame  is   made  of!     The  ' 
wonderful  part  of  the  satire  was,  that,  as  a  natural  conse- 

=r,    quence  of  "  The  Town  and  Country  Mouse,"  Matthew 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  129 

Prior  was  made  Secretary  of  Embassy  at  The  Hague. 
I  believe  it  is  dancing  rather  than  singing  which  dis- 
tinguishes the  young  English  diplomatists  of  the  present 
day,  and  have  seen  them  in  various  parts  perform  that 
part  of  their  duty  very  finely.  In  Prior's  time  it  appears 
a  different  accomplishment  led  to  preferment.  Could 
you  write  a  copy  of  Alcaics?  That  was  the  question. 
Could  you  turn  out  a  neat  epigram  or  two?  Could 
you  compose  "The  Town  and  Country  Mouse"?  It 
is  manifest  that  by  the  possession  of  this  faculty  the 
most  difficult  treaties,  the  laws  of  foreign  nations,  and 
the  interests  of  our  own  are  easily  understood.  Prior 
rose  in  the  diplomatic  service,  and  said  good  things 
that  proved  his  sense  and  his  spirit.  When  the  apart- 
ments at  Versailles  were  shown  to  him,  with  the  victories 
of  Louis  XIV.  painted  on  the  walls,  and  Prior  was 
asked  whether  the  palace  of  the  King  of  England  had 
any  such  decorations,  "  The  monuments  of  my  master's 
actions,"  Mat  said,  of  William,  whom  he  cordially 
revered,  "  are  to  be  seen  everywhere  except  in  his  own 
house."  Bravo,  Mat!  Prior  rose  to  be  full  ambassa- 
dor at  Paris,  where  he  somehow  was  cheated  out  of  his 
ambassadorial  plate;  and  in  a  heroic  poem,  addressed 
by  him  to  her  late  lamented  Majesty,  Queen  Anne, 
Mat  makes  some  magnificent  allusions  to  these  dishes 
and  spoons,  of  which  Fate  had  deprived  him.  All  that 
he  wants,  he  says,  is  her  Majesty's  picture;  without 
that,  he  cannot  be  happy. 

"  Thee,  gracious  Anne,   thee  present  I  adore : 
Thee,  Queen  of  Peace,  if  Time  and  Fate  have  power 
Higher  to  raise  the  glories  of  thy  reign, 
In  words  sublimer  and  a  nobler  strain 


130  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

May  future  bards  the  mighty  theme  rehearse. 
Here,  Stator  Jove,  and  Phoebus,  king  of  verse, 
The  votive  tablet  I  suspend." 

With  that  word  the  poem  stops  abruptly.     The  votive 

5  tablet  is  suspended  forever,  like  Mahomet's  coffin. 
News  came  that  the  Queen  was  dead.  Stator  Jove, 
and  Phoebus,  king  of  verse,  were  left  there,  hovering  to 
this  day  over  the  votive  tablet.  The  picture  was  never 
got,  any  more  than  the  spoons  and  dishes;  the  inspira- 

10  tion  ceased,  the  verses  were  not  wanted  —  the  ambassa- 
dor was  not  wanted.  Poor  Mat  was  recalled  from 
his  embassy,  suffered  disgrace  along  with  his  patrons, 
lived  under  a  sort  of  cloud  ever  after,  and  disappeared 
in  Essex.  When  deprived  of  all  his  pensions  and  emolu- 

io  ments,  the  hearty  and  generous  Oxford  pensioned  him. 
They  played  for  gallant  stakes,  the  bold  men  of  those 
days,  and  lived  and  gave  splendidly. 

Johnson    quotes    from    Spence    a    legend    that    Prior, 
after    spending    an    evening    writh    Harley,    Saint    John, 

20  Pope,  and  Swift,  would  go  off  and  smoke  a  pipe  with 
a  couple  of  friends  of  his,  a  soldier  and  his  wife,  in 
Long  Acre.  Those  who  have  not  read  his  late 
Excellency's  poems  should  be  wrarned  that  they  smack 
not  a  little  of  the  conversation  of  his  Long  Acre  friends. 

25  Johnson  speaks  slightingly  of  his  lyrics;  but  with  due 
deference  to  the  great  Samuel,  Prior's  seem  to  me  among 
the  easiest,  the  richest,  the  most  charmingly  humorous 
^>f  English  lyrical  poems.  Horace  is  always  in  his  mind; 
and  his  song  and  his  philosophy,  his  good  sense,  his 

30  happy  easy  turns  and  melody,  his  loves  and  his  Epicu- 
reanism, bear  a  great  resemblance  to  that  most  delight- 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  131 

ful  and  accomplished  master.  In  reading  his  works 
one  is  struck  with  their  modern  air,  as  well  as  by  their 
happy  similarity  to  the  songs  of  the  charming  owner 
of  the  Sabine  farm.  In  his  verses  addressed  to  Halifax, 
he  says,  writing  of  that  endless  theme  to  poets,  the 
vanity  of  human  wishes,  — 

"  So  whilst  in  fevered  dreams  we  sink, 
And  waking,  taste  what  we  desire, 
The  real  draught  but  feeds  the  fire, 
The  dream  is  better  than  the  drink. 

"  Our  hopes  like  towering  falcons  aim 
At  objects  in  an  airy  height; 
To  stand  aloof  and  view  the  flight 
Is  all  the  pleasure  of  the  game." 

Would  not  you  fancy  that  a  poet  of  our  own  days 
was  singing;  and  in  the  verses  of  Chloe  weeping  and 
reproaching  him  for  his  inconstancy,  where  he  says,  — 

"  The  God  of  us  versemen,  you  know,  child,  the  Sun, 

How,  after  his  journeys,  he  sets  up  his  rest. 
If  at  morning  o'er  earth  'tis  his  fancy  to  run, 
At  night  he  declines  on  his  Thetis's  breast. 

"  So,  when  I  am  wearied  with  wandering  all  day, 

To  thee,  my  delight,  in  the  evening  I  come ; 
No  matter  what  beauties  I  saw  in  my  way, 
They  were  but  my  visits,  but  thou  art  my  home ! 

"  Then  finish,  dear  Chloe,  this  pastoral  war, 
And  let  us  like  Horace  and  Lydia  agree; 
For  thou  art  a  girl  as  much  brighter  than  her, 
As  he  was  a  poet  sublimer  than  me." 

If  Prior  read  Horace,  did  not  Thomas  Moore  study 
Prior?  Love  and  pleasure  find  singers  in  all  days. 


132  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

Roses  are  always  blowing  and  fading,  —  to-day  as  in 
that  pretty  time  when  Prior  sang  of  them,  and  of  Chloe 
lamenting  their  decay :  — 

"  She  sighed,  she  smiled,  and  to  the  flowers 

Pointing,  the  lovely  moralist  said: 
'  See,  friend,  in  some  few  fleeting  hours, 
See  yonder  what  a  change  is  made! 

"  '  Ah  me !  the  blooming  pride  of  May 

And  that  of  Beauty  are  but  one; 
At  morn  both  flourish,  bright  and  gay, 

Both  fade  at  evening,  pale  and  gone. 

"  *  At  dawn  poor  Stella  danced  and  sung, 

The  amorous  youth  around  her  bowed ; 
At  night  her  fatal  knell  was  rung: 
I  saw,  and  kissed  her  in  her  shroud. 

"  *  Such  as  she  is  who  died  to-day, 

Such  I,  alas,  may  be  to-morrow: 
Go,  Damon,  bid  thy  Muse  display 
The  justice  of  thy  Chloe's  sorrow.'" 

Damon's  knell  was  rung  in  1721.  May  his  turf  lie 
lightly  on  him!  "  Deus  sit  propitius  huic  potatori,"  as 
Walter  de  Mapes  sang.  Perhaps  Samuel  Johnson,  who 
spoke  slightingly  of  Prior's  verses,  enjoyed  them  more 
than  he  was  willing  to  own.  The  old  moralist  had 
studied  them  as  well  as  Mr.  Thomas  Moore,  and 
defended  them  and  showed  that  he  remembered  them, 
very  well  too,  on  an  occasion  when  their  morality  was 
called  in  question  by  that  noted  puritan,  James  Boswell, 
Esquire,  of  Auchinleck. 

In  the  great  society  of  the  wits,  John  Gay  deserved 
to  be  a  favorite,  and  to  have  a  good  place.  In  his  set 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  133 

all  were  fond  of  him.  His  success  offended  nobody. 
He  missed  a  fortune  once  or  twice.  He  was  talked  of 
for  Court  favor,  and  hoped  to  win  it;  but  the  Court 
favor  jilted  him.  Craggs  gave  him  some  South  Sea 

5  stock,  and  at  one  time  Gay  had  very  nearly  made  his 
fortune;  but  Fortune  shook  her  swift  wings  and  jilted 
him  too.  And  so  his  friends,  instead  of  being  angry  with 
him  and  jealous  of  him,  were  kind  and  fond  of  honest 
Gay.  In  the  portraits  of  the  literary  worthies  of  the 

10  early  part  of  the  last  century  Gay's  face  is  the  pleasant- 
est  perhaps  of  all.  It  appears  adorned  with  neither 
periwig  nor  nightcap  (the  full  dress  and  neglige  of 
learning,  without  which  the  painters  of  those  days 
scarcely  ever  portrayed  wits),  and  he  laughs  at  you  over 

is  his  shoulder  with  an  honest  boyish  glee,  an  artless 
sweet  humor.  He  was  so  kind,  so  gentle,  so  jocular,  so 
delightfully  brisk  at  times,  so  dismally  woebegone  at 
others,  such  a  natural  good  creature,  that  the  Giants 
loved  him.  The  great  Swift  was  gentle  and  sportive 

20  with  him,  as  the  enormous  Brobdingnag  maids  of  honor 
were  with  little  Gulliver.  He  could  frisk  and  fondle 
round  Pope,  and  sport  and  bark  and  caper,  without 
offending  the  most  thin-skinned  of  poets  and  men ;  and 
when  he  was  jilted  in  that  little  Court  affair  of  which 

25  we  have  spoken,  his  warm-hearted  patrons  the  Duke  and 
Duchess  of  Queensberry  (the  "  Kitty,  beautiful  and 
young,"  of  Prior)  pleaded  his  cause  with  indignation, 
and  quitted  the  Court  in  a  huff,  carrying  off  with  them 
into  their  retirement  their  kind,  gentle  protege.  With 

30  these  kind,  lordly  folks,  a  real  Duke  and  Duchess,  as 
delightful  as  those  who  harbored  Don  Quixote  and  loved 


134  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

the  dear  old  Sancho,  Gay  lived,  and  was  lapped  in 
cotton,  and  had  his  plate  of  chicken  and  his  saucer 
of  cream,  and  frisked  and  barked  and  wheezed  and 
grew  fat,  and  so  ended.  He  became  very  melancholy 

c  and  lazy,  sadly  plethoric,  and  only  occasionally  diverting 
in  his  latter  days.  But  everybody  loved  him  and  the 
remembrance  of  his  pretty  little  tricks;  and  the  raging 
old  Dean  of  Saint  Patrick's,  chafing  in  his  banishment, 
was  afraid  to  open  the  letter  which  Pope  wrote  him 

10    announcing  the  sad  news  of  the  death  of  Gay. 

Swift's  letters  to  him  are  beautiful ;  and  having  no 
purpose  but  kindness  in  writing  to  him,  no  party  aim 
to  advocate,  or  slight  or  anger  to  wreak,  every  word  the 
Dean  says  to  his  favorite  is  natural,  trustworthy,  and 

is  kindly.  His  admiration  for  Gay's  parts  and  honesty, 
and  his  laughter  at  his  weaknesses  were  alike  just  and 
genuine.  He  paints  his  character  in  wonderful  pleasant 
traits  of  jocular  satire.  "  I  writ  lately  to  Mr.  Pope," 
Swift  says,  writing  to  Gay.  "  I  wish  you  had  a  little 

20  villakin  in  his  neighborhood ;  but  you  are  yet  too  volatile, 
and  any  lady  with  a  coach  and  six  horses  wrould  carry 
you  to  Japan."  "  If  your  ramble,"  says  Swift,  in  another 
letter,  "  was  on  horseback,  I  am  glad  of  it,  on  account 
of  your  health;  but  I  know  your  arts  of  patching  up  a 

1-.-,  journey  between  stage-coaches  and  friends'  coaches,  for 
you  are  as  arrant  a  cockney  as  any  hosier  in  Cheapside. 
I  have  often  had  it  in  my  head  to  put  it  into  yours  that 
you  ought  to  have  some  great  work  in  scheme,  which 
may  take  up  seven  years  to  finish,  besides  two  or  three 

so  under-ones  that  may  add  'another  thousand  pounds  to 
your  stock;  and  then  I  shall  be  in  less  pain  about  you. 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  135 

I  know  you  can  find  dinners,  but  you  love  twelve-penny 
coaches  too  well,  without  considering  that  the  interest  of 
a  whole  thousand  pounds  brings  you  but  half-a-crown  a 
day."  And  then  Swift  goes  off  from  Gay  to  pay  some 
grand  compliments  to  her  Grace  the  Duchess  of  Queens- 
berry,  in  whose  sunshine  Mr.  Gay  was  basking,  and  in 
whose  radiance  the  Dean  would  have  liked  to  warm 
himself  too. 

But  we  have  Gay  here  before  us,  in  these  letters,  —  lazy, 
kindly,  uncommonly  idle ;  rather  slovenly,  I  am  afraid ; 
forever  eating  and  saying  good  things;  a  little,  round, 
French  abbe  of  a  man,  sleek,  soft-handed,  and  soft- 
hearted. 

Our  object  in  these  lectures  is  rather  to  describe  the 
men  than  their  works;  or  to  deal  with  the  latter  only 
in  as  far  as  they  seem  to  illustrate  the  character  of  their' 
writers.  Mr.  Gay's  "  Fables,"  which  were  written  to 
benefit  that  amiable  Prince,  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  the 
warrior  of  Dettingen  and  Culloden,  I  have  not,  I  own, 
been  able  to  peruse  since  a  period  of  very  early  youth ; 
and  it  must  be  confessed  that  they  did  not  effect  much 
benefit  upon  the  illustrious  young  Prince  whose  manners 
they  were  intended  to  mollify,  and  whose  natural  ferocity 
our  gentle-hearted  satirist  perhaps  proposed  to  restrain. 
But  the  six  pastorals  called  the  "  Shepherd's  Week,"  and/ 
the  burlesque  poem  of  "  Trivia,"  any  man  fond  of  laz\v 
literature  will  find  delightful  at  the  present  day,  and 
must  read  from  beginning  to  end  with  pleasure.  They^ 
are  to  poetry  what  charming  little  Dresden  china  figures 
are  to  sculpture,  —  graceful, '  minikin,  fantastic,  with  a/ 
certain  beauty  always  accompanying  them.  The  pretty\ 


136  ENGLISH  HUMORI3T3 

little  personages  of  the  pastoral,  with  gold  clocks  to  their 
stockings  and  fresh  satin  ribbons  to  their  crooks  and* 
waistcoats  and  bodices,  dance  their  loves  to  a  minuet- 
tune  played  on  a  bird-organ,  approach  the  charmer,  or 

;  rush  from  the  false  one  daintily  on  their  red-heeled  tiptoes, 
and  die  of  despair  or  rapture,  with  the  most  pathetic 
little  grins  and  ogles;  or  repose,  simpering  at  each  other, 
under  an  arbor  of  pea-green  crockery,  or  piping  to  pretty 
flocks  that  have  just  been  washed  with  the  best  Naples 

10  in  a  stream  of  Bergamot.  Gay's  gay  plan  seems  to  me  far 
pleasanter  than  that  of  Philips  (his  rival  and  Pope's),  a 
serious  and  dreary  idyllic  cockney:  not  that  Gay's  "  Bum- 
kinets  "  and  "  Hobnelias  "  are  a  whit  more  natural  than 
the  would-be  serious  characters  of  the  other  posture- 
'  15  master ;  but  the  quality  of  this  true  humorist  was  to  laugh 
and  make  laugh,  though  always  with  a  secret  kindness 
and  tenderness;  to  perform  the  drollest  little  antics  and 
capers,  but  always  with  a  certain  grace  and  to  sweet 
music,  —  as  you  may  have  seen  a  Savoyard  boy  abroad, 

20  with  a  hurdy-gurdy  and  a  monkey,  turning  over  head 
and  heels,  or  clattering  and  pirouetting  in  a  pair  of  wooden 
shoes,  yet  always  with  a  look  of  love  and  appeal  in  his 
bright  eyes,  and  a  smile  that  asks  and  wins  affection  and 
protection.  Happy  they  who  have  that  sweet  gift  of 

•x  nature !  It  was  this  which  -made  the  great  folks  and  Court 
ladies  free  and  friendly  with  John  Gay ;  which  made  Pope 
and  Arbuthnot  love  him;  which  melted  the  savage  heart 
of  Swift  when  he  thought  of  him,  and  drove  away  for 
a  moment  or  two  the  dark  frenzies  which  obscured  the 

so  lonely  tyrant's  brain,  as  he  heard  Gay's  voice  with  its 
simple  melody  and  artless,  ringing  laughter. 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  137 

What  used  to  be  said  about  Rubinf,  "  Qu'il  avait  des 
larmes  dans  la  voix,"  may  be  said  of  Gay,  and  of  one  other 
humorist  of  whom  we  shall  have  to  speak.  In  almost 
every  ballad  of  his,  however  slight,  in  the  "  Beggar's 

;     Opera  "   and   in   its  wearisome  continuation    (where   the 
verses    are   to    the   full    as   pretty   as    in    the   first   piece, 
however),  there  is  a  peculiar,  hinted,  pathetic  sweetness 
and  melody.     It  charms  and  melts  you.     It  is  indefinable,  C 
but  it  exists,  and  is  the  property  of  John  Gay's  and  Oliver 

o  Goldsmith's  best  verse,  as  fragrance  is  of  a  violet,  or 
freshness  of  a  rose. 

Let  me  read  a  piece  from  one  of  his  letters,  which 
is  so  famous  that  most  people  here  are  no  doubt  familiar 
with  it,  but  so  delightful  that  it  is  always  pleasant  to 

5    hear : — 

"  I  have  just  passed  part  of  this  summer  at  an  old  romantic 
seat  of  my  Lord  Harcourt's  which  he  lent  me.  It  overlooks  a 
common  hayfield,  where,  under  the  shade  of  a  haycock,  sat  two 
lovers  as  constant  as  ever  were  found  in  romance,  beneath  a 

„  spreading  beech.  The  name  of  the  one  (let  it  sound  as  it  will) 
was  John  Hewet;  of  the  other,  Sarah  Drew.  John  was  a  well-set 
man,  about  five-and-twenty ;  Sarah,  a  brown  woman  of  eighteen. 
John  had  for  several  months  borne  the  labor  of  the  day  in  the 
same  field  with  Sarah;  when  she  milked,  it  was  his  morning  and 

5  evening  charge  to  bring  the  cows  to  her  pail.  Their  love  was 
the  talk,  but  not  the  scandal,  of  the  whole  neighborhood,  for  all 
they  aimed  at  was  the  blameless  possession  of  each  other  in  mar- 
riage. It  was  but  this  very  morning  that  he  had  obtained  her 
parents'  consent,  and  it  was  but  till  the  next  week  that  they  were 

,  to  wait  to  be  happy.  Perhaps  this- very  day,  in  the  intervals  of 
their  work,  they  were  talking  of  their  wedding-clothes;  and  John 
was  now  matching  several  kinds  of  poppies  and  field-flowers  to 
her  complexion,  to  make  her  a  present  of  knots  for  the  day. 
While  they  were  thus  employed  (it  was  on  the  last  of  July)  a 


138  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

terrible  storm  of  thunder  and  lightning  arose,  that  drove  the 
laborers  to  what  shelter  the  trees  or  hedges  afforded.  Sarah, 
frightened  and  out  of  breath,  sank  on  a  haycock;  and  John  (who 
never  separated  from  her)  sat  by  her  side,  having  raked  two  or 
three  heaps  together,  to  secure  her.  Immediately  there  was  heard 
so  loud  a  crack  as  if  heaven  had  burst  asunder.  The  laborers, 
all  solicitous  for  each  other's  safety,  called  to  one  another;  those 
that  were  nearest  our  lovers,  hearing  no  answer,  stepped  to  the 
place  where  they  lay.  They  first  saw  a  little  smoke,  and  after, 
this  faithful  pair,  —  John,  with  one  arm  about  his  Sarah's  neck, 
and  the  other  held  over  her  face  as  if  to  screen  her  from  the 
lightning.  They  were  struck  dead,  and  already  grown  stiff  and 
cold  in  this  tender  posture.  There  was  no  mark  or  discoloring 
on  their  bodies,  only  that  Sarah's  eyebrow  was  a  little  singed, 
and  a  small  spot  between  her  breasts.  They  were  buried  the  next 
day  in  one  grave." 

And  the  proof  that  this  description  is  delightful  and 
beautiful  is  that  the  great  Mr.  Pope  admired  it  so  much 
that  he  thought  proper  to  steal  it,  and  to  send  it  off  to 
a  certain  lady  and  wit,  with  whom  he  pretended  to  be 
in  love  in  those  days,  —  my  Lord  Duke  of  Kingston's 
daughter,  and  married  to  Mr.  Wortley  Montagu,  then 
his  Majesty's  Ambassador  at  Constantinople. 

We  are  now  come  to  the  greatest  name  on  our  list,  — 
the  highest  among  the  poets,  the  highest  among  the 
English  wits  and  humorists  with  whom  we  have  to  rank 
him.  If  the  author  of  the  "  Dunciad  "  be  not  a  humorist, 
if  the  poet  of  the  "  Rape  of  the  Lock  "  be  not  a  wit,  who 
deserves  to  be  called  so?  Besides  that  brilliant  genius 
and  immense  fame,  for  both  of  which  we  should  respect 
him,  men  of  letters  should  admire  him  as  being  one  of 
the  greatest  literary  artists  that  England  has  seen.  He 
polished,  he  refined,  he  thought;  he  took  thoughts  from 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  139 

other  works  to  adorn  and  complete  his  own,  —  borrow- 
ing an  idea  or  a  cadence  from  another  poet  as  he  would 
a  figure  or  a  simile  from  a  flower,  or  a  river,  stream,  or 
any  object  which  struck  him  in  his  walk  or  contempla- 
tion  of  Nature.  He  began  to  imitate  a*  an  early  age, 
and  taught  himself  to  w^rite  by  copying  printed  books. 
Then  he  passed  into  the  hands  of  the  priests;  and  from 
his  first  clerical  master,  who  came  to  him  when  he  was 
eight  years  old,  he  went  to  a  school  at  Twyford,  and 
another  school  at  Hyde  Park,  at  which  places  he  unlearned 
all  that  he  had  got  from  his  first  instructor.  At  twelve 
years  old,  he  went  with  his  father  into  Windsor  Forest, 
and  there  learned  for  a  few  months  under  a  fourth  priest. 
"And  this  was  all  the  teaching  I  ever  had,"  he  said; 
"  and  God  knows  it  extended  a  very  little  way." 

When  he  had  done  with  his  priests  he  took  to  reading 
by  himself,  for  which  he  had  a  very  great  eagerness  and 
enthusiasm,  especially  for  poetry.  He  learned  versifica- 
tion from  Dryden,  he  said.  In  his  youthful  poem  of 
"  Alcander,"  he  imitated  every  poet,  —  Cowley,  Milton, 
Spenser,  Statius,  Homer,  Virgil.  In  a  few  years  he  had 
dipped  into  a  great  number  of  the  English,  French, 
Italian,  Latin,  and  Greek  poets.  "  This  I  did,"  he  says, 
"  without  any  design  except  to  amuse  myself,  and  got 
the  languages  by  hunting  after  the  stories  in  the  several 
poets  I  read,  rather  than  read  the  books  to  get  the  lan- 
guages. I  followed  everywhere  as  my  fancy  led  me,  and 
was  like  a  boy  gathering  flowers  in  the  fields  and  woods, 
just  as  they  fell  in  his  way.  These  five  or  six  years  I 
looked  upon  as  the  happiest  in  my  life."  Is  not  here  a 
beautiful  holiday  picture?  The  forest  and  the  fairy 


140  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

story-book;  the  boy  spelling  Ariosto  or  Virgil  under  the 
trees,  battling  with  the  Cid  for  the  love  of  Chimene,  or 
dreaming  of  Armida's  garden,  —  peace  and  sunshine 
round  about,  the  kindest  love  and  tenderness  waiting 

5  for  him  at  his  quiet  home  yonder,  and  Genius  throbbing 
in  his  young  heart,  and  whispering  to  him,  "  You  shall 
be  great,  you  shall  be  famous;  you  too  shall  love  and 
sing;  you  will  sing  her  so  nobly  that  some  kind  heart 
shall  forget  you  are  weak  and  ill  formed.  Every  poet 

10  had  a  love.  Fate  must  give  one  to  you  too;"  and  day 
by  day  he  walks  the  forest,  very  likely  looking  out  for 
that  charmer.  "  They  were  the  happiest  days  of  his 
life,"  he  says,  when  he  was  only  dreaming  of  his  fame; 
when  he  had  gained  that  mistress  she  was  no  consoler. 

is  That  charmer  made  her  appearance,  it  would  seem, 
about  the  year  1705,  when  Pope  was  seventeen.  Let- 
ters of  his  are"  extant,  addressed  to  a  certain  Lady  M , 

whom  the  youth  courted,  and  to  whom  he  expressed  his 
ardor  in  language,  to  say  no  worse  of  it,  that  is  entirely 

20  pert,  odious,  and  affected.  He  imitated  love-composi- 
tions as  he  had  been  imitating  love-poems  just  before; 
it  was  a  sham  mistress  he  courted,  and  a  sham  passion, 
expressed  as  became  it.  These  unlucky  letters  found 
their  way  into  print  years  afterwards,  and  were  sold  to 

25  the  congenial  Mr.  Curll.  If  any  of  my  hearers,  as  I 
hope  they  may,  should  take  a  fancy  to  look  at  Pope's 
correspondence,  let  them  pass  over  that  first  part 
of  it,  —  over,  perhaps,  almost  all  Pope's  letters  to  women, 
in  which  there  is  a  tone  of  not  pleasant  gallantry,  and 

so  amidst  a  profusion  of  compliments  and  politenesses  a 
something  which  makes  one  distrust  the  little  pert, 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  141 

prurient  bard.  There  is  very  little  indeed  to  say  about 
his  loves,  and  that  little  not  edifying.  He  wrote  flames 
and  raptures  and  elaborate  verse  and  prose  for  Lady 
Mary  Wortley  Montagu ;  but  that  passion  probably 
came  to  a  climax  in  an  impertinence,  and  was  extin- 
guished by  a  box  on  the  ear,  or  some  such  rebuff,  and 
he  began  on  a  sudden  to  hate  her  with  a  fervor  much 
more  genuine  than  that  of  his  love  had  been.  It  was 
a  feeble,  puny  grimace  of  love,  and  paltering  with  pas- 
sion. After  Mr.  Pope  had  sent  off  one  of  his  fine 
compositions  to  Lady  Mary,  he  made  a  second  draft 
from  the  rough  copy,  and  favored  some  other  friend 
with  it.  He  was  so  charmed  with  the  letter  of  Gay's 
that  I  have  just  quoted,  that  he  had  copied  that  and 
amended  it,  and  sent  it  to  Lady  Mary  as  his  own.  A 
gentleman  who  writes  letters  a  deux  fins,  and,  after  having 
poured  out  his  heart  to  the  beloved,  serves  up  the  same 
dish,  rechauffe  to  a  friend,  is  not  very  much  in  earnest 
about  his  loves,  however  much  he  may  be  in  his  piques 
and  vanities  when  his  impertinence  gets  its  due. 

But,  save  that  unlucky  part  of  the  "  Pope  Corre- 
spondence," I  do  not  know  in  the  range  of  our  literature 
volumes  more  delightful.  You  live  in  them  in  the  finest 
company  in  the  world.  A  little  stately,  perhaps ;  a  little 
apprete,  and  conscious  that  they  are  speaking  to  whole 
generations  who  are  listening;  but  in  the  tone  of  their 
voices,  —  pitched,  as  no  doubt  they  are,  beyond  the 
mere  conversation  key,  —  in  the  expression  of  their 
thoughts,  their  various  views  and  natures,  there  is  some- 
thing generous  and  cheering  and  ennobling.  You  are 
in  the  society  of  men  who  have  filled  the  greatest  parts 


142  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

in  the  world's  story:  you  are  with  St.  John  the  statesman; 
Peterborough  the  conqueror;  Swift,  the  greatest  wit  of 
all  times;  Gay,  the  kindliest  laughter.  It  is  a  privilege 
to  sit  in  that  company.  Delightful  and  generous  banquet ! 
with  a  little  faith  and  a  little  fancy  any  one  of  us  here 
may  enjoy  it,  and  conjure  up  those  great  figures  out  of 
the  past,  and  listen  to  their  wit  and  wisdom.  Mind  that 
there  is  always  a  certain  cachet  about  great  men;  they 
may  be  as  mean  on  many  points  as  you  or  I,  but  they 
carry  their  great  air;  they  speak  of  common  life  more 
largely  and  generously  than  common  men  do ;  they  regard 
the  world  with  a  manlier  countenance,  and  see  its  real 
features  more  fairly  than  the  timid  shufflers  who  only 
dare  to  look  up  at  life  through  blinkers,  or  to  have  an 
opinion  when  there  is  a  crowd  to  back  it.  He  who  reads 
these  noble  records  of  a,  past  age  salutes  and  reverences 
the  great  spirits  who  adorn  it.  You  may  go  home  now 
and  talk  with  St.  John ;  you  may  take  a  volume  f rom 
your  library,  and  listen  to  Swift  and  Pope. 

Might  I  give  counsel  to  any  young  hearer,  I  would 
say  to  him,  Try  to  frequent  the  company  of  your  bet- 
ters, —  in  books  and  life  that  is  the  most  wholesome 
society ;  learn  to  admire  rightly,  —  the  great  pleasure 
of  life  is  that;  note  what  the  great  men  admired, — 

25  they  admired  great  things;  narrow  spirits  admire  basely 
and  worship  meanly.  I  know  nothing  in  any  story  more 
gallant  and  cheering  than  the  love  and  friendship  which 
this  company  of  famous  men  bore  towards  one  another. 
There  never  has  been  a  society  of  men  more  friendly, 

so  as  there  never  was  one  more  illustrious.  Who  dares 
quarrel  with  Mr.  Pope,  great  and  famous  himself,  for 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  143 

liking  the  society  of  men  great  and  famous;  and  for 
liking  them  for  the  qualities  which  made  them  so?  A 
mere  pretty  fellow  from  White's  could  not  have  writ- 
ten the  "  Patriot  King,"  and  would  very  likely  have 
despised  little  Mr.  Pope,  the  decrepit  Papist,  whom  the 
great  St.  John  held  to  be  one  of  the  best  and  greatest 
of  men;  a  mere  nobleman  of  the  Court  could  no  more 
have  won  Barcelona  than  he  could  have  written  Peter- 
borough's letters  to  Pope,  which  are  as  witty  as  Congreve ; 
a  mere  Irish  Dean  could  not  have  written  "  Gulliver." 
And  all  these  men  loved  Pope,  and  Pope  loved  all 
these  men.  To  name  his  friends  is  to  name  the  best  men 
of  his  time.  Addison  had  a  senate ;  Pope  reverenced 
his  equals.  He  spoke  of  Swift  with  respect  and  admira- 
tion always.  His  admiration  for  Bolingbroke  was  so 
great,  that  when  some  one  said  of  his  friend,  "  There 
is  something  in  that  greaf  man  which  looks  as  if  he 
was  placed  here  by  mistake,"  —  "  Yes,"  Pope  answered, 
"  and  when  the  comet  appeared  to  us  a  month  or  two 
ago,  I  had  sometimes  an  imagination  that  it  might  pos- 
sibly be  come  to  carry  him  home,  as  a  coach  comes  to 
one's  door  for  visitors."  So  these  great  spirits  spoke  of 
one  another.  Show  me  six  of  the  dullest  middle-aged 
gentlemen  that  ever  dawdled  round  a  club-table  so  faithful 
and  so  friendly. 

We  have  said  before  that  the  chief  wits  of  this 
time,  with  the  exception  of  Congreve,  were  what  we 
should  now  call  men's  men.  They  spent  many  hours 
of  the  four-and-twenty,  a  fourth  part  of  each  day  nearly, 
in  clubs  and  coffee-houses,  where  they  dined,  drank,  and 
smoked.  Wit  and  news  went  by  word  of  mouth ;  a 


144  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

journal  of  1710  contained  the  very  smallest  portion  of 
one  or  the  other.  The  chiefs  spoke,  the  faithful  habitues 
sat  round,  strangers  came  to  wonder  and  listen.  Old 
Dryden  had  his  headquarters  at  Will's,  in  Russell  Street, 
at  the  corner  of  Bow  Street,  at  which  place  Pope  saw 
him  when  he  was  twelve  years  old.  The  company  used 
to  assemble  on  the  first  floor  (what  was  called  the  dining- 
room  floor  in  those  days)  and  sat  at  various  tables 
smoking  their  pipes.  It  is  recorded  that  the  beaux  of  the 
day  thought  it  a  great  honor  to  be  allowed  to  take  a 
pinch  out  of  Dryden's  snuff-box.  When  Addison  began 
to  reign,  he  with  a  certain  crafty  propriety  —  or  policy 
let  us  call  it  —  which  belonged  to  his  nature  set  up 
his  court,  and  appointed  the  officers  of  his  royal  house. 
His  palace  was  Button's,  opposite  Will's.  A  quiet  opposi- 
tion, a  silent  assertion  of  empire,  distinguished  this  great 
man.  Addison's  ministers  were  Budgell,  Tickell,  Philips, 
Carey;  his  master  of  the  horse,  honest  Dick  Steele,  who 
was  what  Duroc  was  to  Napoleon,  or  Hardy  to  Nelson,  — 
the  man  who  performed  his  master's  bidding,  and  would 
have  cheerfully  died  in  his  quarrel.  Addison  lived  with 
these  people  for  seven  or  eight  hours  every  day.  The  male 
society  passed  over  their  punch-bowls  and  tobacco-pipes 
about  as  much  time  as  ladies  of  that  age  spent  over  spadille 
and  manille. 

For  a  brief  space,  upon  coming  up  to  town,  Pope 
formed  part  of  King  Joseph's  court,  and  was  his  rather 
too  eager  and  obsequious  humble  servant.  Dick  Steele, 
the  editor  of  the  "  Tatler,"  Mr.  Addison's  man,  and 
his  own  man  too,  —  a  person  of  no  little  figure  in  the 
world  of  letters,  —  patronized  the  young  poet,  and  set 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  145 

him  a  task  or  two.  Young  Mr.  Pope  did  the  tasks  very 
quickly  and  smartly  (he  had  been  at  the  feet,  quite  as 
a  boy,  of  Wycherley's  decrepit  reputation,  and  propped 
up  for  a  year  that  doting  old  wit).  He  was  anxious  to 
be  well  with  the  men  of  letters,  to  get  a  footing  and  a 
recognition;  he  thought  it  an  honor  to  be  admitted  into 
their  company,  to  have  the  confidence  of  Mr.  Addison's 
friend,  Captain  Steele.  His  eminent  parts  obtained  for 
him  the  honor  of  heralding  Addison's  triumph  of  "  Cato  " 
with  his  admirable  prologue,  and  heading  the  victorious 
procession  as  it  were.  Not  content  with  this  act  of 
homage  and  admiration,  he  wanted  to  distinguish  himself 
by  assaulting  Addison's  enemies,  and  attacked  John 
Dennis  with  a  prose  lampoon,  which  highly  offended  his 
lofty  patron.  Mr.  Steele  was  instructed  to  write  to  Mr. 
Dennis,  and  inform  him  that  Mr.  Pope's  pamphlet 
against  him  was  written  quite  without  Mr.  Addison's 
approval.  Indeed,  "  The  Narrative  of  Dr.  Robert  Norris 
on  the  Phrenzy  of  J.  D."  is  a  vulgar  and  mean  satire, 
and  such  a  blow  as  the  magnificent  Addison  could  never 
desire  to  see  any  partisan  of  his  strike  in  any  literary 
quarrel.  Pope  was  closely  allied  with  Swift  when  he 
wrote  this  pamphlet.  It  is  so  dirty  that  it  has  been 
printed  in  Swift's  works,  too ;  it  bears  the  foul  marks  of 
the  master  hand.  Swift  admired  and  enjoyed  with  all 
his  heart  the  prodigious  genius  of  the  young  Papist  lad 
out  of  Windsor  Forest,  who  had  never  seen  a  university 
in  his  life,  and  came  and  conquered  the  dons  and  the 
doctors  with  his  wit.  He  applauded  and  loved  him,  too, 
and  protected  him,  and  taught  him  mischief.  I  wish 
Addison  could  have  loved  him  better.  The  best  satire 


146  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

that  ever  has  been  penned  would  never  have  been  written 
then ;  and  one  of  the  best  characters  the  world  ever  knew 
would  have  been  without  a  flaw.  But  he  who  had  so  few 
equals  could  not  bear  one;  and  Pope  was  more  than  that. 
When  Pope,  trying  for  himself,  and  soaring  on  his 
immortal  young  wings,  found  that  his,  too,  was  a  genius 
which  no  pinion  of  that  age  could  follow,  he  rose  and  left 
Addison's  company,  settling  on  his  own  eminence,  and 
singing  his  own  song. 

It  was  not  possible  that  Pope  should  remain  a  retainer 
of  Mr.  Addison,  nor  likely  that  after  escaping  from  his 
vassalage  and  assuming  an  independent  crown,  the 
sovereign  whose  allegiance  he  quitted  should  view  him 
amicably.  They  did  not  do  wrong  to  mislike  each 
other;  they  but  followed  the  impulse  of  nature,  and  the 
consequence  of  position.  When  Bernadotte  became 
heir  to  a  throne,  the  Prince  Royal  of  Sweden  was  nat- 
urally Napoleon's  enemy.  "  There  are  many  passions 
and  tempers  of  mankind,"  says  Mr.  Addison  in  the 
"  Spectator,"  speaking  a  couple  of  years  before  the  little 
differences  between  him  and  Mr.  Pope  took  place, 
"  which  naturally  dispose  us  to  depress  and  vilify  the 
merit  of  one  rising  in  the  esteem  of  mankind.  All  those 
who  made  their  entrance  into  the  world  with  the  same 
advantages,  and  were  once  looked  on  as  his  equals,  are 
apt  to  think  the  fame  of  his  merits  a  reflection  on  their 
own  deserts.  Those  who  were  once  his  equals  envy 
and  defame  him  because  they  now  see  him  the  superior; 
and  those  who  were  once  his  superiors,  because  they 
look  upon  him  as  their  equal."  Did  Mr.  Addison,  justly 
perhaps  thinking  that  as  young  Mr.  Pope  had  not  had 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  147 

the  benefit  of  a  university  education  he  could  not  know 
Greek,  therefore  he  could  not  translate  Homer,  encourage 
his  young  friend  Mr.  Tickell,  of  Queen's,  to  translate 
that  poet,  and  aid  him  with  his  own  known  scholarship 
and  skill?  It  was  natural  that  Mr.  Addison  should 
doubt  of  the  learning  of  an  amateur  Grecian,  should  have 
a  high  opinion  of  Mr.  Tickell,  of  Queen's,  and  should 
help  that  ingenious  young  man.  .  It  was  natural,  on  the 
other  hand,  that  Mr.  Pope  and  Mr.  Pope's  friends 
should  believe  that  this  counter-translation,  suddenly 
advertised  and  so  long  written,  though  Tickell's  college 
friends  had  never  heard  of  it;  though,  when  Pope  first 
wrote  to  Addison  regarding  his  scheme  Mr.  Addison 
knew  nothing  of  the  similar  project  of  Tickell,  of 
Queen's,  —  it  was  natural  that  Mr.  Pope  and  his  friends, 
having  interests,  passions,  and  prejudices  of  their  own, 
should  believe  that  Tickell's  translation  was  but  an  act 
of  opposition  against  Pope,  and  that  they  should  call 
Mr.  Tickell's  emulation  Mr.  Addison's  envy,  if  envy 
it  were. 

"  And  were  there  one  whose  fires 
True  genius  kindles  and  fair  fame  inspires, 
Blest  with  each  talent  and  each  art  to  please, 
And  born  to  write,  converse,  and  live  with  ease: 
Should  such  a  man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone, 
Bear,  like  the  Turk,  no  brother  near  the  throne ; 
View  him  with  scornful  yet  with  jealous  eyes, 
And  hate  for  arts  that  caused  himself  to  rise; 
Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
And,  without  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer; 
Willing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike, 
Just  hint  a  fault,  and  hesitate  dislike ; 


148  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

Alike  reserved  to  blame  as  to  commend, 
A  timorous  foe  and  a  suspicious  friend ; 
Dreading  even  fools,  by  flatterers  besieged, 
And  so  obliging  that  he  ne'er  obliged; 
Like  Cato^give  his  little  senate  laws, 
And  sit  attentive  to  his  own  applause; 
While  wits  and  templars  every  sentence  raise, 
And  wonder  with  a  foolish  face  of  praise: 
Who  but  must  laugh  if  such  a  man  there  be? 
Who  would  not  weep  if  Atticus  were  he?  " 

"  I  sent  the  verses  to  Mr.  Addison,"  said  Pope,  "  and 
he  used  me  very  civilly  ever  after."  No  wonder  he  did. 
It  was  shame  very  likely  more  than  fear  that  silenced 
him.  Johnson  recounts  an  interview  between  Pope  and 
Addison  after  their  quarrel,  in  which  Pope  was  angry, 
and  Addison  tried  to  be  contemptuous  and  calm.  Such 
a  weapon  as  Pope's  must  have  pierced  any  scorn ;  it 
flashes  forever,  and  quivers  in  Addison's  memory.  His 
great  figure  looks  out  on  us  from  the  past,  stainless  but 
for  that,  pale,  calm,  and  beautiful ;  it  bleeds  from  that 
black  wound.  He  should  be  drawn,  like  Saint  Sebastian, 
with  that  arrow  in  his  side.  As  he  sent  to  Gay  and  asked 
his  pardon,  as  he  bade  his  stepson  come  and  see  his 
death,  be  sure  he  had  forgiven  Pope  when  he  made  ready 
to  show  how  a  Christian  could  die. 

Pope  then  formed  part  of  the  Addisonian  court  for  a 
short  time,  and  describes  himself  in  his  letters  as  sitting 
with  that  coterie  until  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  over 
punch  and  burgundy,  amidst  the  fumes  of  tobacco.  To 
use  an  expression  of  the  present  day,  the  "  pace "  of 
those  viveurs  of  the  former  age  was  awful.  Peterborough 
lived  into  the  very  jaws  of  death;  Godolphin  labored  all 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  149 

day  and  gambled  at  night.  Bolingbroke,  writing  to 
Swift  from  Dawley,  in  his  retirement,  dating  his  letter 
at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  rising  as  he  says 
refreshed,  serene,  and  calm,  calls  to  mind  the  time  of  his 
London  life,  when  about  that  hour  he  used  to  be  going  to 
bed  surfeited  with  pleasure  and  jaded  with  business,  his 
head  often  full  of  schemes  and  his  heart  as  often  full  of 
anxiety.  It  was  too  hard,  too  coarse  a  life  for  the  sensitive, 
sickly  Pope.  He  was  the  only  wit  of  the  day,  a  friend 
writes  to  me,  who  was  not  fat.  Swift  was  fat ;  Addison 
was  fat ;  Steele  was  fat ;  Gay  and  Thomson  were  pre- 
posterously fat.  All  that  fuddling  and  punch-drinking, 
that  club  and  coffee-house  boozing,  shortened  the  lives 
and  enlarged  the  waistcoats  of  the  men  of  that  age.  Pope 
withdrew  in  a  great  measure  from  this  boisterous  London 
company,  and  being  put  into  an  independence  by  the 
gallant  exertions  of  Swift  and  his  private  friends,  and 
by  the  enthusiastic  national  admiration  which  justly 
rewarded  his  great  achievement  of  the  Iliad,  purchased 
that  famous  villa  of  Twickenham  which  his  song  and 
life  celebrated,  duteously  bringing  his  old  parents  to 
live  and  die  there,  entertaining  his  friends  there,  and 
making  occasional  visits  to  London  in  his  little  chariot, 
in  which  Atterbury  compared  him  to  "  Homer  in  a 
nutshell." 

"  Mr.  Dryden  was  not  a  genteel  man,"  Pope  quaintly 
said  to  Spence,  speaking  of  the  manners  and  habits  of 
the  famous  old  patriarch  of  Will's.  With  regard  to 
Pope's  own  manners,  we  have  the  best  contemporary 
authority  that  they  were  singularly  refined  and  polished. 
With  his  extraordinary  sensibility,  with  his  known  tastes, 


150  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

with  his  delicate,  frame,  with  his  power  and  dread  of 
ridicule,  Pope  could  have  been  no  other  than  what  we 
call  a  highly-bred  person.  His  closest  friends,  with  the 
exception  of  Swift,  were  among  the  delights  and  orna- 
ments of  the  polished  society  of  their  age.  Garth,  the 
accomplished  and  benevolent,  whom  Steele  has  described 
so  charmingly,  of  whom  Codrington  said  that  his  character 
was  "  all  beauty,"  and  whom  Pope  himself  called  the  best 
of  Christians  without  knowing  it ;  Arbuthnot,  one  of  the 
wisest,  wittiest,  most  accomplished,  gentlest  of  mankind; 
Bolingbroke,  the  Alcibiades  of  his  age;  the  generous 
Oxford;  the  magnificent,  the  witty,  the  famous,  and 
chivalrous  Peterborough,  —  these  were  the  fast  and  faith- 
ful friends  of  Pope,  the  most  brilliant  company  of  friends, 
let  us  repeat,  that  the  world  has  ever  seen.  The  favorite 
recreation  of  his  leisure  hours  was  the  society  of  painters, 
whose  art  he  practised.  In  his  correspondence  are  letters 
between  him  and  Jervas,  whose  pupil  he  loved  to  be; 
Richardson,  a  celebrated  artist  of  his  time,  and  who  painted 
for  him  a  portrait  of  his  old  mother,  for  whose  picture  he 
asked  and  thanked  Richardson  in  one  of  the  most  delight- 
ful letters  that  ever  was  penned;  and  the  wonderful 
Kneller,  who  bragged  more,  spelt  worse,  and  painted  better 
than  any  artist  of  his  day. 

It  is  affecting  to  note,  through  Pope's  correspondence, 
the  marked  way  in  which  his  friends  —  the  greatest,  the 
most  famous,  and  wittiest  men  of  the  time;  generals  and 
statesmen,  philosophers  and  divines  —  all  have  a  kind  word 
and  a  kind  thought  for  the  good,  simple  old  mother,  whom 
Pope  tended  so  affectionately.  Those  men  would  have 
scarcelv  valued  her  but  that  they  knew  how  much  he 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  151 

loved  her,  and  that  they  pleased  him  by  thinking  of  her. 
If  his  early  letters  to  women  are  affected  and  insincere, 
whenever  he  speaks  about  this  one  it  is  with  a  childish  ten- 
derness and  an  almost  sacred  simplicity.  In  1713,  when 
young  Mr.  Pope  had  by  a  series  of  the  most  astonishing 
victories  and  dazzling  achievements  seized  the  crown  of 
poetry,  and  the  town  was  in  an  uproar  of  admiration  or 
hostility  for  the  young  chief;  when  Pope  was  issuing  his 
famous  decrees  for  the  translation  of  the  Iliad ;  when  Den- 
nis and  the  lower  critics  were  hooting  and  assailing  him ; 
when  Addison  and  the  gentlemen  of  his  court  were  sneer- 
ing with  sickening  hearts  at  the  prodigious  triumphs  of  the 
young  conqueror,  —  when  Pope,  in  a  fever  of  victory  and 
genius,  and  hope  and  anger,  was  struggling  through  the 
crowd  of  shouting  friends  and  furious  detractors  to  his 
temple  of  Fame,  his  old  mother  writes  from  the  country, 
"  My  deare,"  says  she,  "  my  deare,  there's  Mr.  Blount,  of 
Maple  Durom,  dead  the  same  day  that  Mr.  Inglefield 
died.  Your  sister  is  well,  but  your  brother  is  sick.  My 
service  to  Mrs.  Blount,  and  all  that  ask  of  me.  I  hope  to 
hear  from  you,  and  that  you  are  well,  which  is  my  daily 
prayer,  —  and  this  with  my  blessing."  The  triumph 
marches  by,  and  the  car  of  the  young  conqueror,  the  hero 
of  a  hundred  brilliant  victories ;  the  fond  mother  sits  in  the 
quiet  cottage  at  home  and  says,  "  I  send  you  my  daily 
prayers,  and  I  bless  you,  my  deare." 

In  our  estimate  of  Pope's  character,  let  us  always  take 
into  account  that  constant  tenderness  and  fidelity  of  affec- 
tion which  pervaded  and  sanctified  his  life,  and  never  for- 
get that  maternal  benediction.  It  accompanied  him  always ; 
his  life  seems  purified  by  those  artless  and  heartfelt  prayers. 


152  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

And  he  seems  to  have  received  and  deserved  the  fond 
attachment  of  the  other  members  of  his  family.  It  is  not  a 
little  touching  to  read  in  Spence  of  the  enthusiastic  admira- 
tion with  which  his  half-sister  regarded  him,  and  the  sim- 
ple anecdote  by  which  she  illustrates  her  love.  "  I  think 
no  man  was  ever  so  little  fond  of  money,"  Mrs.  Rackett 
says  about  her  brother,  "  I  think  my  brother  when  he  was 
young  read  more  books  than  any  man  in  the  world ;  "  and 
she  falls  to  telling  stories  of  his  school-days,  and  of  the 
manner  in  which  his  master  at  Twyford  ill-used  him.  "  I 
don't  think  my  brother  knew  what  fear  was,"  she  con- 
tinues; and  the  accounts  of  Pope's  friends  bear  out  this 
character  for  courage.  When  he  had  exasperated  the 
dunces,  and  threats  of  violence  and  personal  assault  were 
brought  to  him,  the  dauntless  little  champion  never  for 
one  instant  allowed  fear  to  disturb  him,  or  condescended 
to  take  any  guard  in  his  daily  walks  except  occasionally 
his  faithful  dog  to  bear  him  company.  "  I  had  rather  die 
at  once,"  said  the  gallant  little  cripple,  "  than  live  in  fear 
of  those  rascals." 

As  for  his  death,  it  was  what  the  noble  Arbuthnot  asked 
and  enjoyed  for  himself,  —  a  euthanasia,  a  beautiful  end. 
A  perfect  benevolence,  affection,  serenity,  hallowed  the 
departure  of  that  high  soul.  Even  in  the  very  hallucina- 
tions of  his  brain  and  weaknesses  of  his  delirium  there  was 
something  almost  sacred.  Spence  describes  him  in  his  last 
days,  looking  up  and  with  a  rapt  gaze  as  if  something  had 
suddenly  passed  before  him.  "  He  said  to  me,  '  What's 
that?'  pointing  into  the  air  with  a  very  steady  regard, 
and  then  looked  down  and  said,  with  a  smile  of  the  great- 
est softness,  '  'Twas  a  vision !  '  He  laughed  scarcely 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  153 

ever,  but  his  companions  describe  his  countenance  as  often 
illuminated   by  a  peculiar  sweet  smile. 

"  When,"  said  Spence,  the  kind  anecdotist  whom  John- 
son despised,  —  "  when  I  was  telling  Lord  Bolingbroke 
that  Mr.  Pope,  on  every  catching  and  recovery  of  his 
mind,  was  always  saying  something  kindly  of  his  pres- 
ent or  absent  friends ;  and  that  this  was  so  surprising, 
as  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  humanity  had  outlasted  under- 
standing, —  Lord  Bolingbroke  said,  *  It  has  so;  '  and  then 
added,  '  I  never  in  my  life  knew  a  man  who  had  so  ten- 
der a  heart  for  his  particular  friends,  or  a  more  general 
friendship  for  mankind.  I  have  known  him  these  thirty 
years,  and  value  myself  more  for  that  man's  love  than  — 
Here,"  Spence  says,  "  St.  John  sank  his  head,  and  lost 
his  voice  in  tears."  The  sob  which  finishes  the  epitaph 
is  finer  than  words.  It  is  the  cloak  thrown  over  the 
father's  face  in  the  famous  Greek  picture,  which  hides  the 
grief  and  heightens  it. 

In  Johnson's  "  Life  of  Pope  "  you  will  find  described, 
with  rather  a  malicious  minuteness,  some  of  the  personal 
habits  and  infirmities  of  the  great  little  Pope.  His  body 
was  crooked ;  he  was  so  short  that  it  was  necessary  to  raise 
his  chair  in  order  to  place  him  on  a  level  with  other  peo- 
ple at  table.  He  was  sewed  up  in  a  buckram  suit  every 
morning,  and  required  a  nurse  like  a  child.  His  contem- 
poraries reviled  these  misfortunes  with  a  strange  acri- 
mony, and  made  his  poor  deformed  person  the  butt  for 
many  a  bolt  of  heavy  wit.  The  facetious  Mr.  Dennis,  in 
speaking  of  him,  says,  "  If  you  take  the  first  letter  of  Mr. 
Alexander  Pope's  Christian  name,  and  the  first  and  last 
letters  of  his  surname,  you  have  A  p  e"  Pope  catalogues, 


154  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

at  the  end  of  the  "  Dunciad,"  with  a  rueful  precision, 
other  pretty  names,  besides  Ape,  which  Dennis  called  him. 
That  great  critic  pronounced  Mr.  Pope  a  little  ass,  a 
fool,  a  coward,  a  Papist,  and  therefore  a  hater  of  Scripture, 
and  so  forth.  It  must  be  remembered  that  the  pillory 
was  a  flourishing  and  popular  institution  in  those  days. 
Authors  stood  in  it  in  the  body  sometimes,  and  dragged 
their  enemies  thither  morally;  hooted  them  with  foul 
abuse,  and  assailed  them  with  garbage  of  the  gutter.  Poor 
Pope's  figure  was  an  easy  one  for  those  clumsy  caricatu- 
rists to  draw.  Any  stupid  hand  could  draw  a  hunchback  and 
write  "  Pope  "  underneath.  They  did.  A  libel  was  pub- 
lished against  Pope,  with  such  a  frontispiece.  This  kind 
of  rude  jesting  was  an  evidence  not  only  of  an  ill  nature, 
but  a  dull  one.  When  a  child  makes  a  pun,  or  a  lout 
breaks  out  into  a  laugh,  it  is  some  very  obvious  combina- 
tion of  words  or  discrepancy  of  objects  which  provokes  the 
infantile  satirist,  or  tickles  the  boorish  wrag;  and  many  of 
Pope's  revilers  laughed  not  so  much  because  they  were 
wicked,  as  because  they  knew  no  better. 

Without  the  utmost  sensibility,  Pope  could  not  have 
been  the  poet  he  was ;  and  through  his  life,  however  much 
he  protested  that  he  disregarded  their  abuse,  the  coarse 
ridicule  of  his  opponents  stung  and  tore  him.  One  of 
Gibber's  pamphlets  coming  into  Pope's  hands  whilst  Rich- 
ardson the  painter  was  with  him,  Pope  turned  round  and 
said,  "  These  things  are  my  diversions;  "  and  Richardson, 
sitting  by  whilst  Pope  perused  the  libel,  said  he  saw  his 
features  "  writhing  with  anguish."  How  little  human 
nature  changes!  Cannot  one  see  that  little  figure?  Can- 
not one  fancy  one  is  reading  Horace?  Cannot  one  fancy 
one  is  speaking  of  to-day? 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  155 

The  tastes  and  sensibilities  of  Pope,  which  led  him  to 
cultivate  the  society  of  persons  of  fine  manners  or  wit  or 
taste  or  beauty,  caused  him  to  shrink  equally  from  that 
shabby  and  boisterous  crew  which  formed  the  rank  and 
file  of  literature  in  his  time;  and  he  was  as  unjust  to  these 
men  as  they  to  him.  The  delicate  little  creature  sickened 
at  habits  and  company  which  were  quite  tolerable  to 
robuster  men ;  and  in  the  famous  feud  between  Pope  and 
the  Dunces,  and  without  attributing  any  peculiar  wrong 
to  either,  one  can  quite  understand  how  the  two  parties 
should  so  hate  each  other.  Ak  I  fancy,  it  was  a  sort  of 
necessity  that  when  Pope's  triumph  passed,  Mr.  Addison 
and  his  men  should  look  rather  contemptuously  down  on 
it  from  their  balcony;  so  it  was  natural  for  Dennis  and 
Tibbald,  and  Welsted  and  Gibber,  and  the  worn  and 
hungry  pressmen  in  the  crowd  below,  to  howl  at  him  and 
assail  him.  And  Pope  was  more  savage  to  Grub  Street 
than  Grub  Street  was  to  Pope.  The  thong  with  which 
he  lashed  them  was  dreadful ;  he  fired  upon  that  howling 
crew  such  shafts  of  flame  and  poison,  he  slew  and  wounded 
so  fiercely,  that  in  reading  the  "  Dunciad  "  and  the  prose 
lampoons  of  Pope  one  feels  disposed  to  side  against  the 
ruthless  little  tyrant,  at  least  to  pity  those  wretched  folks 
on  whom  he  was  so  unmerciful.  It  was  Pope,  and  Swift 
to  aid  him,  who  established  among  us  the  Grub  Street 
tradition.  He  revels  in  base  descriptions  of  poor  men's 
want ;  he  gloats  over  poor  Dennis's  garret  and  flannel 
nightcap  and  red  stockings ;  he  gives  instructions  how  to 
find  Curll's  authors,  —  the  historian  at  the  tallow-chan- 
dler's under  the  blind  arch  in  Petty  France;  the  two  trans- 
lators in  bed  together ;  the  poet  in  the  cock-loft  in  Budge 


156  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

Row,  whose  landlady  keeps  the  ladder.  It  was  Pope,  I 
fear,  who  contributed  more  than  any  man  who  ever  lived 
to  depreciate  the  literary  calling.  It  was  not  an  unpros- 
perous  one  before  that  time,  as  we  have  seen ;  at  least  there 
were  great  prizes  in  the  profession  which  had  made  Addi- 
son  a  Minister,  and  Prior  an  .Ambassador,  and  Steele  a 
Commissioner,  and  Swift  all  but  a  Bishop.  The  profession 
of  letters  was  ruined  by  that  libel  of  the  "  Dunciad."  If 
authors  were  wretched  and  poor  before,  if  some  of  them 
lived  in  haylofts  of  which  their  landladies  kept  the  ladders 
at  least  nobody  came  to  disturb  them  in  their  straw;  if 
three  of  them  had  but  one  coat  between  them,  the  two 
remained  invisible  in  the  garret,  the  third  at  any  rate 
appeared  decently  at  the  coffee-house  and  paid  his  twopence 
like  a  gentleman.  It  was  Pope  that  dragged  into  light 
all  this  poverty  and  meanness,  and  held  up  those  wretched 
shifts  and  rags  to  public  ridicule.  It  was  Pope  that  has 
made  generations  of  the  reading  world  (delighted  with  the 
mischief,  as  who  would  not  be  that  reads  it?)  believe  that 
author  and  wretch,  author  and  rags,  author  and  dirt,  author 
and  drink,  gin,  cowheel,  tripe,  poverty,  duns,  bailiffs,  squall- 
ing children,  and  clamorous  landladies,  were  always  asso- 
ciated together.  The  condition  of  authorship  began  to  fall 
from  the  days  of  the  "  Dunciad ;  "  and  I  believe  in  my 
heart  that  much  of  that  obloquy  which  has  since  pursued 
our  calling  was  occasioned  by  Pope's  libels  and  wicked  wit. 
Everybody  read  those ;  everybody  was  familiarized  with  the 
idea  of  the  poor-devil  author.  The  manner  is  so  capti- 
vating that  young  authors  practise  it,  and  begin  their  career 
with  satire.  It  is  so  easy  to  write,  and  so  pleasant  to  read  ; 
to  fire  a  shot  that  makes  a  giant  wince,  perhaps,  and  fancy 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE  157 

one's  self  his  conqueror !  It  is  easy  to  shoot,  but  not  as 
Pope  did.  The  shafts  of  his  satire  rise  sublimely;  no 
poet's  verse  ever  mounted  higher  than  that  wonderful 
flight  with  which  the  "  Dunciad  "  concludes:  — 

"  She  comes,  she  comes !  the  sable  throne  behold 
Of  Night  primeval  and  of  Chaos  old ; 
Before  her,  Fancy's  gilded  clouds  decay, 
And  all  its  varying  rainbows  die  away; 
Wit  shoots  in  vain  its  momentary  fires,  — 
The  meteor  drops,  and  in  a  flash  expires. 
As  one  by  one,  at  dread  Medea's  strain, 
The  sick'ning  stars  fade  off  the  ethereal  plain ; 
As  Argus'  eyes,  by  Hermes'  wand  oppressed, 
Closed,  one  by  one,  to  everlasting  rest,  — 
Thus,  at  her  fell  approach  and  secret  might, 
Art  after  Art  goes  out,  and  all  is  night. 
See  skulking  Truth  to  her  old  cavern  fled, 
Mountains  of  casuistry  heaped  o'er  her  head; 
Philosophy,  that  leaned  on  Heaven  before, 
Shrinks  to  her  second  cause  and  is  no  more. 
Religion,  blushing,  veils  her  sacred  fires, 
And,  unawares,  Morality  expires. 
Nor  public  flame,  nor  private,  dares  to  shine, 
Nor  human  spark  is  left,  nor  glimpse  divine. 
Lo !  thy  dread  empire,  Chaos,  is  restored, 
Light  dies  before  thy  uncreating  word ; 
Thy  hand,  great  Anarch,  lets  the  curtain  fall, 
And  universal  darkness  buries  all." 

In  these  astonishing  lines  Pope  reaches,  I  think,  to  the 
very  greatest  height  which  his  sublime  art  has  attained, 
and  shows  himself  the  equal  of  all  poets  of  all  times.  It 
is  the  brightest  ardor,  the  loftiest  assertion  of  truth,  the 
most  generous  wisdom  illustrated  by  the  noblest  poetic 
figure,  and  spoken  in  words  the  aptest,  grandest,  and  most 


158  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

harmonious.  It  is  heroic  courage  speaking,  a  splendid  dec- 
laration of  righteous  wrath  and  war.  It  is  the  gage  flung 
down,  and  the  silver  trumpet  ringing  defiance  to  falsehood 
and  tyranny,  deceit,  dulness,  superstition.  It  is  Truth, 
the  champion,  shining  and  intrepid,  and  fronting  the  great 
world-tyrant  with  armies  of  slaves  at  his  back.  It  is  a  won- 
derful and  victorious  single  combat,  in  that  great  battle 
which  has  always  been  waging  since  society  began. 

In  speaking  of  a  work  of  consummate  art  one  does  not 
try  to  show  what  it  actually  is,  for  that  were  vain;  but 
what  it  is  like,  and  what  are  the  sensations  produced  in 
the  mind  of  him  who  views  it.  And  in  considering  Pope's 
admirable  career,  I  am  forced  into  similitudes  drawn  from 
other  courage  and  greatness,  and  into  comparing  him  with 
those  who  achieved  triumphs  in  actual  war.  I  think  of 
the  works  of  young  Pope  as  I  do  of  the  actions  of  young 
Bonaparte  or  young  Nelson.  In  their  common  life  you 
will  find  frailties  and  meannesses  as  great  as  the  vices  and . 
follies  of  the  meanest  men ;  but  in  the  presence  of  the  great 
occasion  the  great  soul  flashes  out,  and  conquers  transcend- 
ent. In  thinking  of  the  splendor  of  Pope's  young  victories, 
of  his  merit,  unequalled  as  his  renown,  I  hail  and  salute 
the  achieving  genius,  and  do  homage  to  the  pen  of  a  hero. 


LECTURE  THE  FIFTH 

HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING 

I  suppose,  as  long  as  novels  last  and  authors  aim  at  inter- 
esting their  public,  there  must  always  be  in  the  story  a 
virtuous  and  gallant  hero,  a  wicked  monster  his  opposite, 
and  a  pretty  girl  who  finds  a  champion ;  bravery  and  virtue 
conquer  beauty ;  and  vice,  after  seeming  to  triumph  through 
a  certain  number  of  pages,  is  sure  to  be  discomfited  in  the 
last  volume,  when  justice  overtakes  him  and  honest  folks 
come  by  their  own.  There  never  was  perhaps  a  greatly 
popular  story  but  this  simple  plot  was  carried  through  it. 
Mere  satiric  wit  is  addressed  to  a  class  of  readers  and 
thinkers  quite  different  to  those  simple  souls  who  laugh 
and  weep  over  the  novel.  I  fancy  very  few  ladies  indeed, 
for  instance,  could  be  brought  to  like  "  Gulliver  "  heartily, 
and  (putting  the  coarseness  and  difference  of  manners  out 
of  the  question)  to  relish  the  wonderful  satire  of  "  Jonathan 
Wild."  In  that  strange  apologue,  the  author  takes  for  a 
hero  the  greatest  rascal,  coward,  traitor,  tyrant,  hypocrite 
that  his  wit  and  experience,  both  large  in  this  matter,  could 
enable  him  to  devise  or  depict;  he  accompanies  this  villain 
through  all  the  actions  of  his  life  with  a  grinning  defer- 
ence and  a  wonderful  mock  respect,  and  does  not  leave 
him  till  he  is  dangling  at  the  gallows,  —  when  the  satirist 
makes  him  a  low  bow,  and  wishes  the  scoundrel  good-day. 

It  was  not  by  satire  of  this  sort,  or  by  scorn  and  contempt, 
that  Hogarth  achieved  his  vast  popularity  and  acquired 

159 


160  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

his  reputation.  His  art  is  quite  simple ;  he  speaks  popular 
parables  to  interest  simple  hearts,  and  to  inspire  them  with 
pleasure  or  pit}/,  or  warning  and  terror.  Not  one  of  his 
tales  but  is  as  easy  as  "  Goody  Two  Shoes;"  it  is  the  moral 

5  of  Tommy  was  a  naughty  boy  and  the  master  flogged  him, 
and  Jacky  was  a  good  boy  and  had  plum-cake,  which  per- 
vades the  whole  works  of  the  homely  and  famous  English 
moralist.  And  if  the  moral  is  written  in  rather  too  large 
letters  after  the  fable,  we  must  remember  how  simple  the 

10  scholars  and  schoolmaster  both  were,  and  like  neither  the 
less  because  they  are  so  artless  and  honest.  "  It  was  a 
maxim  of  Dr.  Harrison's,"  Fielding  says  in  "  Amelia,"  — 
speaking  of  the  benevolent  divine  and  philosopher  who  rep- 
resents the  good  principle  in  that  novel,  —  "  that  no  man 

is  can  descend  below  himself  in  doing  any  act  which  may  con- 
tribute to  protect  an  innocent  person,  or  to  bring  a  rogue 
to  the  gallows."  The  moralists  of  that  age  had  no  com- 
punction, you  see ;  they  had  not  begun  to  be  sceptical  about 
the  theory  of  punishment,  and  thought  that  the  hanging 

no    of  a  thief  was  a  spectacle  for  edification.     Masters  sent 
their  apprentices,  fathers  took  their  children,  to  see  Jack 
Sheppard  or  Jonathan  Wild  hanged,  and  it  was  as  undoubt- 
ing  subscribers  to  this  moral  law  that  Fielding  wrote  and  • 
Hogarth  painted.     Except  in  one  instance,  where  in  the| 

2.-,    mad-house  scene  in  the  "  Rake's  Progress  "  the  girl  whom! 
he  has  ruined  is  represented  as  still  tending  and  weeping 
over  him  in  his  insanity,  a  glimpse  of  pity  for  his  rogues 
never  seems  to  enter  honest  Hogarth's  mind.     There's  not| 
the  slightest  doubt  in  the  breast  of  the  jolly  Draco. 

:«.  The  famous  set  of  pictures  called  "  Marriage  a  la 
Mode,"  and  which  are  now  exhibited  in  the  National  Gal 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  161 

lery  in  London,  contains  the  most  important  and  highly 
wrought  of  the  Hogarth  comedies.  The  care  and  method 
with  which  the  moral  grounds  of  these  pictures  are  laid  is 
as  remarkable  as  the  wit  and  skill  of  the  observing  and  dex- 
terous artist.  He  has  to  describe  the  negotiations  for  a 
marriage  pending  between  the  daughter  of  a  rich  citizen 
Alderman  and  young  Lord  Viscount  Squanderfield,  the 
dissipated  son  of  a  gouty  old  Earl.  Pride  and  pomposity 
appear  in  every  accessory  surrounding  the  Earl.  He  sits 
in  gold  lace  and  velvet,  —  as  how  should  such  an  Earl 
wear  anything  but  velvet  and  gold  lace?  His  coronet  is 
everywhere,  —  on  his  footstool,  on  which  reposes  one  gouty 
toe  turned  out;  on  the  sconces  and  looking-glasses,  on  the 
dogs,  on  his  lordship's  very  crutches ;  on  his  great  chair  of 
state  and  the  great  baldaquin  behind  him,  under  which  he 
sits  pointing  majestically  to  his  pedigree,  which  shows  that 
his  race  is  sprung  from  the  loins  of  William  the  Con- 
queror, and  confronting  the  old  Alderman  from  the  City, 
who  has  mounted  his  sword  for  the  occasion,  and  wears 
his  Alderman's  chain,  and  has  brought  a  bag  full  of  money, 
mortgage-deeds,  and  thousand-pound  notes  for  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  transaction  pending  between  them.  Whilst 
the  steward  (a  Methodist,  therefore  a  hypocrite  and  cheat, 
for  Hogarth  scorned  a  Papist  and  a  Dissenter)  is  nego- 
tiating between  the  old  couple,  their  children  sit  together, 
united  but  apart.  My  Lord  is  admiring  his  countenance 
in  the  glass,  while  his  bride  is  twiddling  her  marriage  ring 
on  her  pocket-handkerchief,  and  listening  with  rueful  coun- 
tenance to  Counsellor  Silvertongue,  who  has  been  drawing 
the  settlements.  The  girl  is  pretty;  but  the  painter,  with 
a  curious  watchfulness,  has  taken  care  to  give  her  a  like- 


162  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

ness  to  her  father  as  in  the  young  Viscount's  face  you  see 
a  resemblance  to  the  Earl,  his  noble  sire.  The  sense  of  the 
coronet  pervades  the  picture,  as  it  is  supposed  to  do  the 
mind  of  its  wearer.  The  pictures  round  the  room  are  sly 
hints  indicating  the  situation  of  the  parties  about  to  marry. 
A  martyr  is  led  to  the  fire ;  Andromeda  is  offered  to  sacri- 
fice; Judith  is  going  to  slay  Holof ernes.  There  is  the 
ancestor  of  the  house  (in  the  picture  it  is  the  Earl  himself 
as  a  young  man),  with  a  comet  over  his  head,  indicating 
that  the  career  of  the  family  is  to  be  brilliant  and  brief. 
In  the  second  picture  the  old  Lord  must  be  dead,  for 
Madam  has  now  the  Countess's  coronet  over  her  bed  and 
toilet-glass,  and  sits  listening  to  that  dangerous  Counsellor 
Silvertongue,  whose  portrait  now  actually  hangs  up  in  her 
room,  whilst  the  counsellor  takes  his  ease  on  the  sofa  by 
her  side,  evidently  the  familiar  of  the  house  and  the  con- 
fidant of  the  mistress.  My  Lord  takes  his  pleasure  else- 
where than  at  home,  whither  he  returns  jaded  and  tipsy 
from  the  Rose,  to  find  his  wife  yawning  in  her  drawing- 
room,  her  whist-party  over,  and  the  daylight  streaming  in ; 
or  he  amuses  himself  with  the  very  worst  company  abroad, 
whilst  his  wife  sits  at  home  listening  to  foreign  singers, 
or  wastes  her  money  at  auctions,  or,  worse  still,  seeks 
amusement  at  masquerades.  The  dismal  end  is  known. 
My  Lord  draws  upon  the  counsellor,  who  kills  him,  and 
is  apprehended  whilst  endeavoring  to  escape.  My  Lady 
goes  back  perforce  to  the  Alderman  in  the  City,  and  faints 
upon  reading  Counsellor  Silvertongue's  dying  speech  at 
Tyburn,  where  the  counsellor  has  been  executed  for  send- 
ing his  Lordship  out  of  the  world.  Moral :  Don't  listen 
to  evil,  silvertongued  counsellors;  don't  marry  a  man  for 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  163 


his  rank,  or  a  woman  for  her  money;  don't  frequent  foolish 
auctions  and  masquerade  balls  unknown  to  your  husband ; 
don't  have  wicked  companions  abroad  and  neglect  your 
wife,  otherwise  you  will  be  run  through  the  body,  and  ruin 
wTill  ensue,  and  disgrace,  and  Tyburn.  The  people  are  all 
naughty,  and  Bogey  carries  them  all  off.  In  the  "  Rake's 
Progress,"  a  loose  life  is  ended  by  a  similar  sad  catastrophe. 
It  is  the  spendthrift  coming  into  possession  of  the  wealth  of 
the  paternal  miser;  the  prodigal  surrounded  by  flatterers, 
and  wasting  his  substance  on  the  very  worst  company,  —  the 
bailiffs,  the  gambling-house,  and  Bedlam  for  an  end.  In 
the  famous  story  of  "  Industry  and  Idleness,"  the  moral 
is  pointed  in  a  manner  similarly  clear.  Fair-haired  Frank 
Goodchild  smiles  at  his  work,"  wThilst  naughty  Tom  Idle 
snores  over  his  loom.  Frank  reads  the  edifying  ballads  of 
"  Whittington  "  and  the  "  London  'Prentice,"  whilst  that 
reprobate  Tom  Idle  prefers  "  Moll  Flanders,"  and  drinks 
hugely  of  beer.  Frank  goes  to  church  of  a  Sunday,  and 
warbles  hymns  from  the  gallery;  while  Tom  lies  on  a 
tombstone  outside  playing  at  "  halfpenny-under-the-hat  " 
with  street  blackguards,  and  is  deservedly  caned  by  the 
beadle.  Frank  is  made  overseer  of  the  business,  whilst 
Tom  is  sent  to  sea.  Frank  is  taken  into  partnership  and 
marries  his  master's  daughter,  sends  out  broken  victuals 
to  the  poor,  and  listens  in  his  nightcap  and  gown,  with  the 
lovely  Mrs.  Goodchild  by  his  side,  to  the  nuptial  music  of 
the  City  bands  and  the  marrow-bones  and  cleavers;  while 
idle  Tom,  returned  from  sea,  shudders  in  a  garret  lest  the 
officers  are  coming  to  take  him  for  picking  pockets.  The 
Worshipful  Francis  Goodchild,  Esquire,  becomes  Sheriff 
of  London,  and  partakes  of  the  most  splendid  dinners  which 


164  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

money  can  purchase  or  Alderman  devour ;  whilst  poor  Tom 
is  taken  up  in  a  night-cellar,  with  that  one-eyed  and  dis- 
reputable accomplice  who  first  taught  him  to  play  chuck- 
farthing  on  a  Sunday.  What  happens  next?  Tom  is 
brought  up  before  the  justice  of  his  country,  in  the  person 
of  Mr.  Alderman  Goodchild,  who  weeps  as  he  recognizes 
his  old  brother  'prentice,  as  Tom's  one-eyed  friend  peaches 
on  him,  and  the  clerk  makes  out  the  poor  rogue's  ticket 
for  Newgate.  Then  the  end  comes.  Tom  goes  to  Tyburn 
in  a  cart  with  a  coffin  in  it;  whilst  the  Right  Honorable 
Francis  Goodchild,  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  proceeds  to  , 
his  Mansion  House,  in  his  gilt  coach,  with  four  footmen 
and  a  sword-bearer,  whilst  the  Companies  of  London  march 
in  the  august  procession,  whilst  the  trainbands  of  the  City 
fire  their  pieces  and  get  drunk  in  his  honor,  and  —  oh 
crowning  delight  and  glory  of  all!  —  whilst  his  Majesty 
the  King  looks  out  from  his  royal  balcony,  with  his 
ribbon  on  his  breast,  and  his  Queen  and  his  star  by  his 
side,  at  the  corner  house  of  Saint  Paul's  Churchward, 
where  the  toy-shop  is  now. 

How  the  times  have  changed !  The  new  Post  Office 
now  not  disadvantageously  occupies  that  spot  where  the 
scaffolding  is  in  the  picture,  where  the  tipsy  trainband- 
man  is  lurching  against  the  post,  with  his  wig  over  one 
eye,  and  the  'prentice-boy  is  trying  to  kiss  the  pretty  girl 
in  the  gallery.  Passed  away  'prentice-boy  and  pretty  girl! 
Passed  away  tipsy  trainband-man  with  wig  and  bandolier! 
On  the  spot  where  Tom  Idle  (for  whom  I  have  an  unaf- 
fected pity)  made  his  exit  from  this  wicked  world,  and 
where  you  see  the  hangman  smoking  his  pipe  as  he  reclines 
on  the  gibbet  and  views  the  hills  of  Harrow  or  Hampstead 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  165 

beyond,  a  splendid  marble  arch,  a  vast  and  modern  city, 
clean,  airy,  painted  drab,  populous  with  nursery-maids  and 
children,  the  abode  of  wealth  and  comfort,  —  the  elegant, 
the  prosperous,  the  polite  Tyburnia  rises,  the  most  respec- 
table district  in  the  habitable  globe. 

In  that  last  plate  of  the  London  Apprentices,  in  which 
the  apotheosis  of  the  Right  Honorable  Francis  Goodchild  is 
drawn,  a  ragged  fellow  is  represented  in  the  corner  of  the 
simple,  kindly  piece,  offering  for  sale  a  broadside  purport- 
ing to  contain  an  account  of  the  appearance  of  the  ghost  of 
Tom  Idle  executed  at  Tyburn.  Could  Tom's  ghost  have 
made  its  appearance  in  1847  and  not  in  1747,  what  changes 
would  have  been  remarked  by  that  astonished  escaped  crimi- 
nal! Over  that  road  which  the  hangman  used  to  travel 
constantly  and  the  Oxford  stage  twice  a  week,  go  ten  thou- 
sand carriages  every  day.  Over  yonder  road,  by  which 
Dick  Turpin  fled  to  Windsor,  and  Squire  Western  jour- 
neyed into  town  when  he  came  to  take  up  his  quarters  at 
the  Hercules  Pillars  on  the  outskirts  of  London,  what  a 
rush  of  civilization  and  order  flows  now!  What  armies 
of  gentlemen  with  umbrellas  march  to  banks  and  cham- 
bers and  counting-houses!  What  regiments  of  nursery- 
maids and  pretty  infantry,  what  peaceful  processions  of 
policemen,  what  light  broughams  and  what  gay  carriages, 
what  swarms  of  busy  apprentices  and  artificers  riding  on 
omnibus-roofs,  pass  daily  and  hourly!  Tom  Idle's  times 
are  quite  changed,  many  of  the  institutions  gone  into  disuse 
which  were  admired  in  his  day.  There's  more  pity  and 
kindness  and  a  better  chance  for  poor  Tom's  successors 
now  than  at  that  simpler  period  when  Fielding  hanged 
him  and  Hogarth  drew  him. 


166  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

To  the  student  of  history  these  admirable  works  must  be 
invaluable,  as  they  give  us  the  most  complete  and  truthful 
picture  of  the  manners  and  even  the  thoughts  of  the  past 
century.  We  look,  and  see  pass  before  us  the  England 
of  a  hundred  years  ago.  The  peer  in  his  drawing-room; 
the  lady  of  fashion  in  her  apartment,  foreign  singers  sur- 
rounding her,  and  the  chamber  filled  with  gew-gaws  in  the 
mode  of  that  day;  the  church,  with  its  quaint,  florid  archi- 
tecture and  singing  congregation ;  the  parson  with  his  great 
wig,  and  the  beadle  with  his  cane,  —  all  these  are  repre- 
sented before  us,  and  we  are  sure  of  the  truth  of  the  por- 
trait. We  see  how  the  Lord  Mayor  dines  in  state,  how 
the  prodigal  drinks  and  sports  at  the  bagnio,  how  the  poor 
girl  beats  hemp  in  Bridewell,  how  the  thief  divides  his 
booty  and  drinks  his  punch  at  the  night-cellar,  and  how 
he  finishes  his  career  at  the  gibbet.  We  may  depend  upon 
the  perfect  accuracy  of  these  strange  and  varied  portraits 
of  the  bygone  generation.  We  see  one  of  Walpole's  Mem- 
bers of  Parliament  chaired  after  his  election,  and  the  lieges 
celebrating  the  event,  and  drinking  confusion  to  the  Pre- 
tender; we  see  the  grenadiers  and  trainbands  of  the  City 
marching  out  to  meet  the  enemy,  and  have  before  us,  with 
sword  and  firelock,  and  "  White  Hanoverian  Horse " 
embroidered  on  the  cap,  the  very  figures  of  the  men  who 
ran  away  with  Johnny  Cope,  and  who  conquered  at  Cul- 
loden.  The  Yorkshire  wagon  rolls  into  the  inn  yard ;  the 
country  parson,  in  his  jack-boots  and  his  bands  and  short 
cassock,  comes  trotting  into  town,  and  we  fancy  it  is  Par- 
son Adams,  with  his  sermons  in  his  pocket.  The  Salisbury 
Fly  sets  forth  from  the  old  Angel.  You  see  the  passen- 
gers entering  the  great,  heavy  vehicle  up  the  wooden 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  167 

steps,  their  hats  tied  down  with  handkerchiefs  over  their 
faces,  and  under  their  arms  sword,  hanger,  and  case-bottle ; 
the  landlady,  apoplectic  \vith  the  liquors  in  her  own  bar, 
is  tugging  at  the  bell;  the  hunchbacked  postilion  (he  may 
have  ridden  the  leaders  to  Humphrey  Clinker)  is  begging 
a  gratuity ;  the  miser  is  grumbling  at  the  bill ;  Jack  of  the 
Centurion  lies  on  the  top  of  the  clumsy  vehicle,  with  a 
soldier  by  his  side  (it  may  be  Smollett's  Jack  Hatchway; 
it  has  a  likeness  to  Lismahago).  You  see  the  suburban 
fair  and  the  strolling  company  of  actors;  the  pretty  milk- 
maid singing  under  the  windows  of  the  enraged  French 
musician  (it  is  such  a  girl  as  Steele  charmingly  described 
in  the  "  Guardian  "  a  few  years  before  this  date,  singing 
under  Mr.  Ironside's  window  in  Shire  Lane  her  pleasant 
carol  of  a  May  morning).  You  see  noblemen  and  black- 
legs bawling  and  betting  in  the  Cockpit;  you  see  Garrick 
as  he  was  arrayed  in  "  King  Richard,"  Macheath  and  Polly 
in  the  dresses  which  they  wore  when  they  charmed  our 
ancestors,  and  when  noblemen  in  blue  ribbons  sat  on 
the  stage  and  listened  to  their  delightful  music.  You  see 
the  ragged  French  soldiery,  in  their  white  coats  and  cock- 
ades, at  Calais  Gate :  they  are  of  the  regiment,  very  likely, 
which  friend  Roderick  Random  joined  before  he  was  res- 
cued by  his  preserver  Monsieur  de  Strap,  with  whom  he 
fought  on  the  famous  day  of  Dettingen.  You  see  the 
judges  on  the  bench,  the  audience  laughing  in  the  pit,  the 
student  in  the  Oxford  theatre,  the  citizen  on  his  country 
walk;  you  see  Broughton  the  boxer,  Sarah  Malcolm  the 
murderess,  Simon  Lovat  the  traitor,  John  Wilkes  the  dema- 
gogue, leering  at  you  with  that  squint  which  has  become 
historical,  and  with  that  face  which,  ugly  as  it  wras,  he  said 


168  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

he  could  make  as  captivating  to  woman  as  the  countenance 
of  the  handsomest  beau  in  town.  All  these  sights  and  peo- 
ple are  with  you.  After  looking  in  the  "  Rake's  Progress  " 
at  Hogarth's  picture  of  Saint  James's  Palace  Gate,  you  may 
people  the  street,  but  little  altered  within  these  hundred 
years,  with  the  gilded  carriages  and  thronging  chairmen 
that  bore  the  courtiers  your  ancestors  to  Queen  Caroline's 
drawing-room  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago. 

What  manner  of  man  was  he  who  executed  these  por- 
traits, —  so  various,  so  faithful,  and  so  admirable  ?  In  the 
London  National  Gallery  most  of  us  have  seen  the  best 
and  most  carefully  finished  series  of  his  comic  paintings, 
and  the  portrait  of  his  own  honest  face,  of  which  the  bright 
blue  eyes  shine  out  from  the  canvas  and  give  you  an  idea  of 
that  keen  and  brave  look  with  which  William  Hogarth 
regarded  the  world.  No  man  was  ever  less  of  a  hero. 
You  see  him  before  you  and  can  fancy  what  he  was,  —  a 
jovial,  honest  London  citizen,  stout  and  sturdy;  a  hearty, 
plain-spoken  man,  loving  his  laugh,  his  friends,  his  glass, 
his  roast  beef  of  old  England,  and  having  a  proper  bour- 
geois scorn  for  French  frogs,  for  mounseers,  and  wooden 
shoes  in  general,  for  foreign  fiddlers,  foreign  singers,  and 
above  all  for  foreign  painters,  whom  he  held  in  the  most 
amusing  contempt. 

It  must  have  been  great  fun  to  hear  him  rage  against 
Correggio  and  the  Caracci ;  to  watch  him  thump  the  table 
and  snap  his  fingers,  and  say,  "  Historical  painters  be 
hanged !  here's  the  man  that  will  paint  against  any  of  them 
for  a  hundred  pounds.  Correggio's  Sigismunda !  Look  at 
Bill  Hogarth's  Sigismunda;  look  at  my  altar-piece  at  Saint 
Mary  Redcliffe,  Bristol;  look  at  my  Paul  before  Felix, 
and  see  whether  I'm  not  as  good  as  the  best  of  them." 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  169 

Posterity  has  not  quite  confirmed  honest  Hogarth's  opin- 
ion about  his  talents  for  the  sublime.  Although  Swift 
could  not  bee  the  difference  between  tweedle-dee  and  twee- 
dle-dum,  posterity  has  not  shared  the  Dean's  contempt  for 
Handel ;  the  world  has  discovered  a  difference  between 
tweedle-dee  and  tweedle-dum,  and  given  a  hearty  applause 
and  admiration  to  Hogarth  too,  but  not  exactly  as  a 
painter  of  scriptural  subjects,  or  as  a  rival  of  Correggio. 
It  does  not  take  away  from  one's  liking  for  the  man,  or 
from  the  moral  of  his  story,  or  the  humor  of  it,  from  one's 
admiration  for  the  prodigious  merit  of  his  performances, 
to  remember  that  he  persisted  to  the  last  in  believing  that 
the  world  was  in  a  conspiracy  against  him  with  respect  to 
his  talents  as  an  historical  painter,  and  that  a  set  of  mis- 
creants, as  he  called  them,  were  employed  to  run  his  genius 
down.  They  say  it  was  Liston's  firm  belief  that  he  was  a 
great  and  neglected  tragic  actor;  they  say  that  every  one 
of  us  believes  in  his  heart,  or  would  like  to  have  others 
believe,  that  he  is  something  which  he  is  not.  One  of  the 
most  notorious  of  the  "  miscreants,"  Hogarth  says,  was 
Wilkes,  who  assailed  him  in  the  "  North  Briton ;  "  the 
other  was  Churchill,  who  put  the  "  North  Briton  "  attack 
into  heroic  verse,  and  published  his  "  Epistle  to  Hogarth." 
Hogarth  replied  by  that  caricature  of  Wilkes  in  which  the 
patriot  still  figures  before  us,  with  his  Satanic  grin  and 
squint,  and  by  a  caricature  of  Churchill,  in  which  he  is  rep- 
resented as  a  bear  with  a  staff,  on  which  lie  the  first,  lie 
the  second,  lie  the  tenth  are  engraved  in  unmistakable  let- 
ters. There  is  very  little  mistake  about  honest  Hogarth's 
satire:  if  he  has  to  paint  a  man  with  his  throat  cut,  he 
draws  him  with  his  head  almost  off;  and  he  tried  to  do 


170  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

the  same  for  his  enemies  in  this  little  controversy.  "  Hav- 
ing an  old  plate  by  me,"  says  he,  "  with  some  parts  ready, 
such  as  the  background  and  a  dog,  I  began  to  consider  how 
I  could  turn  so  much  work  laid  aside  to  some  account,  and 
.-,  so  patched  up  a  print  of  Master  Churchill  in  the  charac- 
ter of  a  bear.  The  pleasure  and  pecuniary  advantage 
which  I  derived  from  these  two  engravings,  together  with 
occasionally  riding  on  horseback,  restored  me  to  as  much 
health  as  I  can  expect  at  my  time  of  life." 
10  And  so  he  concludes  his  queer  little  book  of  Anecdotes: 
"  I  have  gone  through  the  circumstances  of  a  life  which 
till  lately  passed  pretty  much  to  my  own  satisfaction,  and  I 
hope  in  no  respect  injurious  to  any  other  man.  This  I  may 
safely  assert,  that  I  have  done  my  best  to  make  those  about 
15  me  tolerably  happy,  and  my  greatest  enemy  cannot  say  I 
ever  did  an  intentional  injury.  What  may  follow,  God 
knows." 

A  queer  account  still  exists  of  a  holiday  jaunt  taken 
by  Hogarth  and  four  friends  of  his,  who  set  out  like  the 
20    redoubted  Mr.  Pickwick  and  his  companions,  but  just  a 
hundred  years  before  those  heroes,  and  made  an  excursion 
to  Gravesend,  Rochester,  Sheerness,  and  adjacent  places. 
One  of  the  gentlemen  noted  down  the  proceedings  of  the 
journey,   for  which   Hogarth  and  a  brother  artist  made 
25    drawings.     The  book   is  chiefly  curious  at  this  moment 
from  showing  the  citizen  life  of  those  days,  and  the  rough, 
jolly  style  of  merriment,  not  of  the  five  companions  merely, 
but  of  thousands  of  jolly  fellows  of  their  time.     Hogarth 
and  his  friends,  quitting  the  Bedford  Arms,  Covent  Gar- 
no    den,  with  a  song,  took  water  to  Billingsgate,  exchanging 
compliments  with  the  bargemen  as  they  went  down  the 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  171 

river.  At  Billingsgate  Hogarth  made  a  "  caracatura " 
of  a  facetious  porter  called  the  Duke  of  Puddledock,  who 
agreeably  entertained  the  party  with  the  humors,  of  the 
place.  Hence  they  took  a  Gravesend  boat  for  themselves, 
had  straw  to  lie  upon  and  a  tilt  over  their  heads,  they 
say,  and  went  down  the  river  at  night,  sleeping  and  singing 
jolly  choruses. 

They  arrived  at  Gravesend  at  six,  when  they  washed 
their  faces  and  hands,  and  had  their  wigs  powdered.  Then 
they  sallied  forth  for  Rochester  on  foot,  and  drank  by  the 
way  three  pots  of  ale.  At  one  o'clock  they  went  to  din- 
ner with  excellent  port  and  a  quantity  more  beer,  and 
afterwards  Hogarth  and  Scott  played  at  hop-scotch  in  the 
town  hall.  It  would  appear  that  they  slept  most  of  them 
in  one  room,  and  the  chronicler  of  the  party  describes  them 
all  as  waking  at  seven  o'clock  and  telling  each  other  their 
dreams.  You  have  rough  sketches  by  Hogarth  of  the 
incidents  of  this  holiday  excursion.  The  sturdy  little 
painter  is  seen  sprawling  over  a  plank  to  a  boat  at  Grave- 
send  ;  the  whole  company  are  represented  in  one  design  in 
a  fisherman's  room,  where  they  had  all  passed  the  night. 
One  gentleman  in  a  nightcap  is  shaving  himself;  another 
is  being  shaved  by  the  fisherman ;  a  third,  with  a  handker- 
chief over  his  bald  pate,  is  taking  his  breakfast;  and 
Hogarth  is  sketching  the  whole  scene. 

They  describe  at  night  how  they  returned  to  their  quar- 
ters, drank  to  their  friends  as  usual,  emptied  several  cans 
of  good  flip,  all  singing  merrily. 

It  is  a  jolly  party  of  tradesmen  engaged  at  high  jinks. 
These  were  the  manners  and  pleasures  of  Hogarth,  of  his 
time  very  likely,  of  men  not  very  refined,  but  honest  and 


172  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

merry.      It  is  a  brave   London   citizen,   with  John    Bull 
habits,  prejudices,  and  pleasures. 

Of  Smollett's  associates  and  manner  of  life  the  author 
of  the  admirable  "  Humphrey  Clinker  "  has  given  us  an 
interesting  account  in  that  most  amusing  of  novels. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  this  picture  by  Smollett  is  as  faith- 
ful a  one  as  any  from  the  pencil  of  his  kindred  humorist, 
Hogarth. 

We  have  before  us,  and  painted  by  his  own  hand,  Tobias 
Smollett,  the  manly,  kindly,  honest,  and  irascible;  worn 
and  battered,  but  still  brave  and  full  of  heart,  after  a  long 
struggle  against  a  hard  fortune.  His  brain  had  been 
busied  with  a  hundred  different  schemes;  he  had  been 
reviewer  and  historian,  critic,  medical  writer,  poet,  pamph- 
leteer. He  had  fought  endless  literary  battles,  and  braved 
and  wielded  for  years  the  cudgels  of  controversy.  It  was 
a  hard  and  savage  fight  in  those  days,  and  a  niggard  pay. 
He  was  oppressed  by  illness,  age,  narrow  fortune ;  but  his 
spirit  was  still  resolute,  and  his  courage  steady.  The  bat- 
tle over,  he  could  do  justice  to  the  enemy  with  whom  he 
had  been  so  fiercely  engaged,  and  give  a  not  unfriendly 
grasp  to  the  hand  that  had  mauled  him.  He  is  like  one 
of  those  Scotch  cadets,  of  whom  history  gives  us  so  many 
examples,  and  whom,  with  a  national  fidelity,  the  great 
Scotch  novelist  has  painted  so  charmingly,  —  of  gentle 
birth  and  narrow  means,  going  out  from  his  northern 
home  to  win  his  fortune  in  the  world,  and  to  fight  his  way 
armed  with  courage,  hunger,  and  keen  wits.  His  crest 
is  a  shattered  oak-tree,  with  green  leaves  yet  springing 
from  it.  On  his  ancient  coat-of-arms  there  is  a  lion  and 
a  horn;  this  shield  of  his  was  battered  and  dinted  in  a 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  173 

hundred  fights  and  brawls,  through  which  the  stout  Scotch- 
man bore  ft  courageously.  You  see  somehow  that  he  is  a 
gentleman,  through  all  his  battling  and  struggling,  his 
poverty,  his  hard-fought  successes,  and  his  defeats.  His 
3  novels  are  recollections  of  his  own  adventures,  —  his  char- 
acters drawn,  as  I  should  think,  from  personages  with 
whom  he  became  acquainted  in  his  own  career  of  life. 
Strange  companions  he  must  have  had;  queer  acquaint- 
ances he  made  in  the  Glasgow  College,  in  the  country 
10  apothecary's  shop,  in  the  gun-room  of  the  man-of-war 
where  he  served  as  surgeon,  and  in  the  hard  life  on  shore, 
where  the  sturdy  adventurer  struggled  for  fortune.  He 
did  not  invent  much,  as  I  fancy,  but  had  the  keenest  per- 
ceptive faculty,  and  described  what  he  saw  with  wonder- 
is  ful  relish  and  delightful  broad  humor.  I  think  Uncle 
Bowling  in  "  Roderick  Random  "  is  as  good  a  character 
as  Squire  Western  himself ;  and  Mr.  Morgan-,  the  Welsh 
apothecary,  is  as  pleasant  as  Doctor  Caius.  What  man 
who  has  made  his  inestimable  acquaintance,  what  novel- 
:o  reader  who  loves  Don  Quixote  and  Major  Dalgetty,  will 
refuse  his  most  cordial  acknowledgements  to  the  admir- 
able Lieutenant  Lismahago?  The  novel  of  "  Humphrey 
Clinker  "  is,  I  do  think,  the  most  laughable  story  that 
has  ever  been  written  since  the  goodly  art  of  novel-writing 
•-,  began.  Winifred  Jenkins  and  Tabitha  Bramble  must 
keep  Englishmen  on  the  grin  for  ages  yet  to  come ;  and 
in  their  letters  and  the  story  of  their  loves  there  is  a  per- 
petual fount  of  sparkling  laughter,  as  inexhaustible  as 
Bladud's,  well. 

o        Fielding,  too,  has  described,  though  with  a  greater  hand, 
the  characters  and  scenes  which  he  knew  and  saw.      He 


174  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

had  more  than  ordinary  opportunities  for  becoming 
acquainted  with  life.  His  family  and  education  first,  his 
fortunes  and  misfortunes  afterwards,  brought  him  into  the 
society  of  every  rank  and  condition  of  man.  He  is  him- 
self the  hero  of  his  books;  he  is  wild  Tom  Jones,  he  is 
wild  Captain  Booth,  —  less  wild,  I  am  glad  to  think,  than 
his  predecessor,  at  least  heartily  conscious  of  demerit,  and 
anxious  to  amend. 

When  Fielding  first  came  upon  the  town  in  1727,  the 
recollection  of  the  great  wits  was  still  fresh  in  the  coffee- 
houses and  assemblies,  and  the  judges  there  declared  that 
young  Harry  Fielding  had  more  spirits  and  wit  than  Con- 
greve  or  any  of  his  brilliant  successors.  His  figure  was 
tall  and  stalwart,  his  face  handsome,  manly,  and  noble- 
looking.  To  the  very  last  days  of  his  life  he  retained  a 
grandeur  of  air;  and  although  worn  down  by  disease,  his 
aspect  and  presence  imposed  respect  upon  the  people  round 
about  him. 

A  dispute  took  place  between  Mr.  Fielding  and  the 
captain  of  the  ship  in  which  he  was  making  his  last  voyage, 
and  Fielding  relates  how  the  man  finally  went  down  on 
his  knees,  and  begged  his  passenger's  pardon.  He  was 
living  up  to  the  last  days  of  his  life,  and  his  spirit  never 
gave  in.  His  vital  power  must  have  been  immensely 
strong.  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  prettily  charac- 
terizes Fielding  and  this  capacity  for  happiness  which  he 
possessed,  in  a  little  notice  of  his  death,  when  she  com- 
pares him  to  Steele,  who  was  as  improvident  and  as  happy 
as  he  was,  and  says  that  both  should  have  gone  ;on  living 
forever.  One  can  fancy  ^jthe  eagerness  and  gusto  with 
which  a  man  of  Fielding's  frame,  with  his  vast  health  and 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  175 

robust  appetite,  his  ardent  spirits,  his  joyful  humor,  and 
his  keen  and  hearty  relish  for  life,  must  have  seized  and 
drunk  that  cup  of  pleasure  which  the  town  offered  to  him. 
Can  any  of  my  hearers  remember  the  youthful  feats  of  a 
college  breakfast,  the  meats  devoured  and  the  cups  quaffed 
in  that  Homeric  feast?  I  can  call  to  mind  some  of  the 
heroes  of  those  youthful  banquets,  and  fancy  young  Field- 
ing from  Leyden  rushing  upon  the  feast  with  his  great 
laugh,  and  immense,  healthy  young  appetite,  eager  and 
vigorous  to  enjoy.  The  young  man's  wit  and  manners 
made  him  friends  everywhere  :  he  lived  with  the  grand 
man's  society  of  those  days;  he  was  courted  by  peers,  and 
men  of  wealth  and  fashion.  As  he  had  a  paternal  allow- 
ance from  his  father,  General  Fielding,  which,  to  use 
Henry's  own  phrase,  any  man  might  pay  who  would ;  as 
he  liked  good  wine,  good  clothes,  and  good  company,  which 
are  all  expensive  articles  to  purchase,  —  Harry  Fielding 
began  to  run  into  debt,  and  borrow  money  in  that  easy 
manner  in  which  Captain  Booth  borrows  money  in  the 
novel;  was  in  nowise  particular  in  accepting  a  few  pieces 
from  the  purses  of  his  rich  friends,  and  bore  down  upon 
more  than  one  of  them,  as  Walpole  tells  us  only  too  truly, 
for  a  dinner  or  a  guinea.  To  supply  himself  with  the 
latter  he  began  to  write  theatrical  pieces,  having  already, 
no  doubt,  a  considerable  acquaintance  amongst  the*  Old- 
fields  and  Bracegirdles  behind  the  scenes.  He  laughed 
at  these  pieces  and  scorned  them.  When  the  audience 
upon  one  occasion  began  to  hiss  a  scene  which  he  was  too 
lazy  to  correct,  and  regarding  which,  when  Garrick  remon- 
strated with  him,  he  said  that-J:he  public  was  too  stupid 
to  find  out  the  badness  of  his  work,  —  when  the  audience 


176  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

began  to  hiss,  Fielding  said  with  characteristic  coolness, 
"  They  have  found  it  out,  have  they?  "  He  did  not  pre- 
pare his  novels  in  this  way,  and  with  a  very  different  care 
and  interest  laid  the  foundations  and  built  up  the  edifices 
of  his  future  fame. 

Time  and  shower  have  very  little  damaged  those.  The 
fashion  and  ornaments  are  perhaps  of  the  architecture  of 
that  age,  but  the  buildings  remain  strong  and  lofty,  and 
of  admirable  proportions,  masterpieces  of  genius  and  monu- 
ments of  workmanlike  skill. 

I  cannot  offer  or  hope  to  make  a  hero  of  Harry  Field- 
ing. Why  hide  his  faults?  Why  conceal  his  weaknesses 
in  a  cloud  of  periphrases?  Why  not  show  him,  like  him, 
as  he  is,  —  not  robed  in  a  marble  toga,  and  draped  and 
polished  in  a  heroic  attitude,  but  with  inked  ruffles,  and 
claret  stains  on  his  tarnished  laced  coat,  and  on  his  manly 
face  the  marks  of  good  fellowship,  of  illness,  of  kindness, 
of  care  and  wine?  Stained  as  you  see  him,  and  worn 
by  care  and  dissipation,  that  man  retains  some  of  the 
most  precious  and  splendid  human  qualities  and  endow- 
ments. He  has  an  admirable  natural  love  of  truth,  the 
keenest  instinctive  antipathy  to  hypocrisy,  the  happiest 
satirical  gift  of  laughing  it  to  scorn.  His  wit  is  won- 
derfully wise  and  detective;  it  flashes  upon  a  rogue  and 
lightens  up  a  rascal  like  a  policeman's  lantern.  He  is 
one  of  the  manliest  and  kindliest  of  human  beings ;  in 
the  midst  of  all  his  imperfections,  he  respects  female  inno- 
cence and  infantine  tenderness  as  you  would  suppose  such 
a  great-hearted,  courageous  soul  would  respect  and  care 
for  them.  He  could  not  be  so  brave,  generous,  truth- 
telling  as  he  is  were  he  not  infinitely  merciful,  pitiful, 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  177 

and  tender.  He  will  give  any  man  his  purse,  —  he  can- 
not help  kindness  and  profusion.  He  may  have  low 
tastes,  but  not  a  mean  mind ;  he  admires  with  all  his  heart 
good  and  virtuous  men,  stoops  to  no  flattery,  bears  no 
rancor,  disdains  all  disloyal  arts,  does  his  public  duty 
uprightly,  is  fondly  loved  by  his  family,  and  dies  at  his 
work. 

If  that  theory  be  (and  I  have  no  doubt  it  is)  the  right 
and  safe  one,  that  human  nature  is  always  pleased  with 
'the  spectacle  of  innocence  rescued  by  fidelity,  purity,  and 
courage,  I  suppose  that  of  the  heroes  of  Fielding's  three 
novels  we  should  like  honest  Joseph  Andrews  the  best, 
and  Captain  Booth  the  second,  and  Tom  Jones  the  third. 

Joseph  Andrews,  though  he  wears  Lady  Booby's  cast-off 
livery,  is,  I  think,  to  the  full  as  polite  as  Tom  Jones  in 
his  fustian  suit,  or  Captain  Booth  in  regimentals.  He 
has,  like  those  heroes,  large  calves,  broad  shoulders,  a 
high  courage,  and  a  handsome  face.  The  accounts  of 
Joseph's  bravery  and  good  qualities;  his  voice,  too  musical 
to  halloo  to  the  dogs ;  his  bravery  in  riding  races  for  the 
gentlemen  of  the  county,  and  his  constancy  in  refusing 
bribes  and  temptation,  —  have  something  affecting  in  their 
naivete  and  freshness,  and  prepossess  one  in  favor  of  that 
handsome  young  hero.  The  rustic  bloom  of  Fanny  and 
the  delightful  simplicity  of  Parson  Adams  are  described 
with  a  friendliness  which  wins  the  reader  of  their  story; 
we  part  from  them  with  more  regret  than  from  Booth  and 
Jones. 

Fielding,  no  doubt,  began  to  write  this  novel  in  ridi- 
cule of  "  Pamela,"  for  which  work  one  can  understand 
the  hearty  contempt  and  antipathy  which  such  an  athletic 


178  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

and  boisterous  genius  as  Fielding's  must  have  entertained. 
He  could  not  do  otherwise  than  laugh  at  the  puny  cock- 
ney book-seller,  pouring  out  endless  volumes  of  senti- 
mental twaddle,  and  hold  him  up  to  scorn  as  a  mollcoddle 
and  a  milksop.  His  genius  had  been  nursed  on  sack 
posset,  and  not  on  dishes  of  tea.  His  muse  had  sung  the 
loudest  in  tavern  choruses,  had  seen  the  daylight  stream- 
ing in  over  thousands  of  emptied  bowls,  and  reeled  home 
to  chambers  on  the  shoulders  of  the  watchman.  Richard- 
son's  goddess  was  attended  by  old  maids  and  dowagers, 
and  fed  on  muffins  and  bohea.  "  Milksop!  "  roars  Harry 
Fielding,  clattering  at  the  timid  shop-shutters.  "  Wretch! 
Monster!  Mohock!"  shrieks  the  sentimental  author  of 
"  Pamela;  "  and  all  the  ladies  of  his  court  cackle  out  an 
affrighted  chorus.  Fielding  proposes  to  write  a  book  in 
ridicule  of  the  author,  whom  he  disliked  and  utterly 
scorned  and  laughed  at;  but  he  is  himself  of  so  generous, 
jovial,  and  kindly  a  turn  that  he  begins  to  like  the  charac- 
ters which  he  invents,  cannot  help  making  them  manly 
and  pleasant  as  well  as  ridiculous,  and  before  he  has  done 
with  them  all  loves  them  heartily  every  one. 

Richardson's  sickening  antipathy  for  Harry  Fielding  is 
quite  as  natural  as  the  other's  laughter  and  contempt  at 
the  sentimentalist.  I  have  not  learned  that  these  likings 
and  dislikings  have  ceased  in  the  present  day;  and  every 
author  must  lay  his  account  not  only  to  misrepresentation, 
but  to  honest  enmity  among  critics,  and  to  being  hated 
and  abused  for  good  as  well  as  for  bad  reasons.  Richard- 
son disliked  Fielding's  w^orks  quite  honestly;  Walpole 
quite  honestly  spoke  of  them  as  vulgar  and  stupid.  Their 
squeamish  stomachs  sickened  at  the  rough  fare  an^  the 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  179 

rough__guests-assembled  at  Fielding's  Jolly  revel.  Indeed 
the  cloth  might  have  been  cleaner,  and  the  dinner  and 
the  company  were  scarce  such  as  suited  a  dandy.  The  kind 
and  wise  old  Johnson  would  not  sit  down  with  him. 
But  a  greater  scholar  than  Johnson  could  afford  to  admire 
that  astonishing  genius  of  Harry  Fielding;  and  we  all 
i  know  the  lofty  panegyric  which  Gibbon  wrote  of  him, 
and  which  remains  a  towering  monument  to  the  great 
novelist's  memory.  "  Our  immortal  Fielding,"  Gibbon 
writes,  "  was  of  the  younger  branch  of  the  Earls  of  Den- 
bigh, who  drew  their  origin  from  the  Counts  of  Haps- 
burgh.  The  successors  of  Charles  V.  may  disdain  their 
brethren  of  England,  but  the  romance  of  '  Tom  Jones/ 
that  exquisite  picture  of  human  manners,  will  outlive 
the  palace  of  the  Escurial  and  the  Imperial  Eagle  of 
Austria." 

There  can  be  no  gainsaying  the  sentence  of  this  great 
judge.  To  have  your  name  mentioned  by  Gibbon  is  like 
having  it  written  on  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's.  Pilgrims 
from^all  the  world  admire  and  behold  it. 

As  a  picture  of  manners,  the  novel  of  "  Tom  Jones  " 
is  indeed  exquisite ;  as  a  work  of  construction,  quite  a 
wonder.  The  by-play  of  wisdom,  the  power  of  observa- 
tion, the  multiplied  felicitous  turns  and  thoughts,  the 
varied  character  of  the  great  Comic  Epic,  keep  the  reader 
in  a  perpetual  admiration  and  curiosity.  But  against 
Mr.  Thomas  Jones  himself  we  have  a  right  to  put  in  a 
protest,  and  quarrel  with  the  esteem  the  author  evidently 
has  for  that  character.  Charles  Lamb  says  finely  of  Jones, 
that  a  single  hearty  laugh  from  him  "  clears  the  air,"  — 
but  then  it  is  in  a  certain  state  of  the  atmosphere.  It 


180  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

might  clear  the  air  when  such  personages  as  Blifil  or 
Lady  Bellaston  poison  it;  but  I  fear  very  much  that 
(except  until  the  very  last  scene  of  the  story)  when  Mr. 
Jones  enters  Sophia's  drawing-room,  the  pure  air  there  is 

o  rather  tainted  with  the  young  gentleman's  tobacco-pipe 
and  punch.  I  cannot  say  that  I  think  Mr.  Jones  a  vir- 
tuous character.  I  cannot  say  but  that  I  think  Fielding's 
evident  liking  and  admiration  for  Mr.  Jones  shows  that 
the  great  humorist's  moral  sense  was  blunted  by  his  life, 

10  and  that  here,  in  Art  and  Ethics,  there  is  a  great  error. 
If  it  is  right  to  have  a  hero  whom  we  may  admire,  let 
us  at  least  take  care  that  he  is  admirable.  If,  as  is  the 
plan  of  some  authors  (a  plan  decidedly  against  their 
interests,  be  it  said),  it  is  propounded  that  there  exists 

15    in  life  no  such  being,  and  therefore  that  in  novels,  the 
picture  of  life,  there  should  appear  no  such  character,  — 
then   Mr.  Thomas  Jones  becomes  an   admissible   person, '] 
and  we  examine  his  defects  and  good  qualities,  as  we  do 
those  of   Parson   Thwackum  or-  Miss   Seagrim.      But   a 

20  hero  with  a  flawed  reputation,  a  hero  sponging  for  a 
guinea,  a  hero  who  cannot  pay  his  landlady,  and  is  obliged 
to  let  his  honor  out  to  hire,  is  absurd,  and  his  claim  to 
heroic  rank  untenable.  I  protest  against  Mr.  Thomas 
Jones  holding  such  rank  at  all.  I  protest  even  against 

25  his  being  considered  a  more  than  ordinary  young  fellow, 
ruddy-cheeked,  broad-shouldered,  and  fond  of  wine  and 
pleasure.  He  would  not  rob  a  church,  but  that  is  all ; 
and  a  pretty  long  argument  may  be  debated  as  to  which 
of  these  old  types  —  the  spendthrift,  the  hypocrite,  Jones 

so  and  Blifil,  Charles  and  Joseph  Surface  —  is  the  worst 
itiember  of  society  and  the  most  deserving  of  censure. 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  181 

The  prodigal  Captain  Booth  is  a  better  man  than  his  pre- 
decessor Mr.  Jones,  in  so  far  as  he  thinks  much  more 
humbly  of  himself  than  Jones  did;  goes  down  on  his 
t  knees  and  owns  his  weaknesses,  and  cries  out,  "  Not  for 
i  my  sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  my  pure  and  sweet  and  beau- 
tiful wife  Amelia,  I  pray  you,  O  critical  reader,  to  forgive 
me."  That  stern  moralist  regards  him  from  the  bench 
(the  judge's  practice  out  of  court  is  not  here  the  ques- 
tion), and  says:  "  Captain  Booth,  it  is  perfectly  true 
that  your  life  has  been  disreputable,  and  that  on  many 
occasions  you  have  shown  yourself  to  be  no  better  than 
a  scamp.  You  have  been  tippling  at  the  tavern  when 
the  kindest  and  sweetest  lady  in  the  world  has  cooked 
your  little  supper  of  boiled  mutton  and  awaited  you  all 
the  night;  you  have  spoilt  the  little  dish  of  boiled  mutton 
thereby,  and  caused  pangs  and  pains  to  Amelia's  tender 
heart.  You  have  got  into  debt  without  the  means  of 
paying  it;  you  have  gambled  the  money  with  which  you 
ought  to  have  paid  your  rent;  you  have  spent  in  drink  or 
in  worse  amusements  the  sums  which  your  poor  wife  has 
raised  upon  her  little  home  treasures,  her  own  ornaments, 
and  the  toys  of  her  children.  But,  you  rascal!  you  own 
humbly  that  you  are  no  better  than  you  should  be;  you 
never  for  one  moment  pretend  that  you  are  anything  but 
a  miserable,  weak-minded  rogue:  you  do  in  your  heart 
adore  that  angelic  w^oman,  your  wife;  and  for  her  sake, 
sirrah,  you  shall  have  your  'discharge.  Lucky  for  you, 
and  for  others  like  you,  that  in  spite  of  your  failings  and 
imperfections,  pure  hearts  pity  and  love  you.  For  your 
wife's  sake  you  are  permitted  to  go  hence  without  a 
remand ;  and  I  beg  you,  by  the  way,  to  carry  to  that  angel- 


182  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

ical  lady  the  expression  of  the  cordial  respect  and  admira-  • 
tion  of  this  court."    Amelia  pleads  for  her  husband,  Will 

Y  Booth;  Amelia  pleads  for  her  reckless,  kindly  old  father, 
Harry  Fielding.  To  have  invented  that  character  is  not 

5     only  a  triumph  of  art,  but  it  is  a  good  action.      They  j 
say  it  was  in  his  own  home  that  Fielding  knew  her  and 
loved  her,  and  from  his  own  wife  that  he  drew  the  most 
charming  character   in   English  fiction.      Fiction!     Why 
fiction?    Why  not  history?     I  know  Amelia  just  as  well 

10  as  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu.  I  believe  in  Colonel 
Bath  almost  as  much  as  in  Colonel  Gardiner  or  the  Duke 
of  Cumberland.  I  admire  the  author  of  "  Amelia,"  and 
thank  the  kind  master  who  introduced  me  to  that  sweet 
and  delightful  companion  and  friend.  "  Amelia  "  per- ; 

15  haps  is  not  a  better  story  than  "  Tom  Jones,"  but  it  has 
the  better  ethics;  the  prodigal  repents,  at  least,  before 
forgiveness,  —  whereas  that  odious,  broad-backed  Mr. 
Jones  carries  off  his  beauty  with  scarce  an  interval  of 
remorse  for  his  manifold  errors  and  shortcomings,  and  is 

20  not  half  punished  enough  before  the  great  prize  of  fortune 
and  love  falls  to  his  share.  I  am  angry  with  Jones.  Too 
much  of  the  plum-cake  and  rewards  of  life  fall  to  that 
boisterous,  swaggering  young  scapegrace.  Sophia  actually 
surrenders  without  a  proper  sense  of  decorum,  —  the  fond, 

25  foolish,  palpitating  little  creature!  "  Indeed,  Mr.  Jones," 
she  says,  "  it  rests  with  you  to  appoint  the  day."  I  sup- 
pose Sophia  is  drawn  from 'life  as  well  as  Amelia;  and 
many  a  young  fellow  no  better  than  Mr.  Thomas  Jones 
has  carried  by  a  coup  de  main  the  heart  of  many  a  kind 

so    girl  who  was  a  great  deal  too  good  for  him. 

What  a  wonderful  art!     What  an   admirable  gift  of 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING  183 

nature  was  it  by  which  the  author  of  these  tales  was 
endowed,  and  which  enabled  him  to  fix  our  interest,  to 
waken  our  sympathy,  to  seize  upon  our  credulity,  so  that 
,  —  speculate  gravely  upon  their 


faults  or  their  excellences  ;  prefer  this  one  or  that  ;  deplore 
Jones's  fondness  for  drink  and  play,  Booth's  fondness  for 
play  and  drink,  and  the  unfortunate  position  of  the  wives 
of  both  gentlemen;  love  and  admire  those  ladies  with  all 
our  hearts,  and  talk  about  them  as  faithfully  as  if  we  had 
breakfasted  with  them  this  morning  in  their  actual  draw- 
ing-rooms, or  should  meet  them  this  afternoon  in  the 
Park!  What  a  genius,  wrhat  a  vigor,  what  a  bright-eyed 
intelligence  and  observation,  what  a  wholesome  hatred  for 
meanness  and  knavery,  what  a  vast  sympathy,  what  a 
cheerfulness,  what  a  manly  relish  of  life,  what  a  love  of 
human  kind,  what  a  poet  is  here,  —  watching,  meditating, 
brooding,  creating!  What  multitudes  of  truths  has  that 
man  left  behind  him!  What  generations  he  has  taught 
to  laugh  wisely  and  fairly  !  What  scholars  he  has  formed 
and  accustomed  to  the  exercise  of  thoughtful  humor  and 
the  manly  play  of  wit  !  What  a  courage  he  had  !  What 
a  dauntless  and  constant  cheerfulness  of  intellect,  that 
burned  bright  and  steady  through  all  the  storms  of  his 
life,  and  never  deserted  its  last  wreck!  It  is  wonderful 
to  think  of  the  pains  and  misery  which  the  man  suf- 
fered, —  the  pressure  of  want,  illness,  remorse  which  he 
endured,  —  and  that  the  writer  was  neither  malignant 
nor  melancholy,  his  view  of  truth  never  warped,  and  his 
generous  human  kindness  never  surrendered. 

In  the  quarrel   mentioned  before,  which  happened   on 
Fielding's  last  voyage  to  Lisbon,  and  when  the  stout  cap- 


184  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

tain  of  the  ship  fell  down  on  his  knees  and  asked  the 
sick  man's  pardon,  "  I  did  not  suffer,"  Fielding  says,  in 
his  hearty,  manly  way,  his  eyes  lighting  up  as  it  were 
with  their  old  fire,  —  "I  did  not  suffer  a  brave  man  and 

5  an  old  man  to  remain  a  moment  in  that  posture,  but 
immediately  forgave  him."  Indeed,  I  think,  with  his 
noble  spirit  and  unconquerable  generosity,  Fielding  reminds 
one  of  those  brave  men  of  whom  one  reads  in  stories  of 
English  shipwrecks  and  disasters,  —  of  the  officer  on  the 

10  African  shore,  when  disease  has  destroyed  the  crew,  and 
he  himself  is  seized  by  fever,  who  throws  the  lead  with  a 
death-stricken  hand,  takes  the  soundings,  carries  the  ship 
out  of  the  river  or  off  the  dangerous  coast,  and  dies  in 
the  manly  endeavor;  of  the  wounded  captain,  when  the 

is  vessel  founders,  who  never  loses  his  heart,  who  eyes  the 
danger  steadily,  and  has  a  cheery  word  for  all,  until  the 
inevitable  fate  overwhelms  him,  and  the  gallant  ship  goes 
down.  Such  a  brave  and  gentle  heart,  such  an  intrepid 
and  courageous  spirit,  I  love  to  recognize  in  the  manly, 

20    the  English,  Harry  Fielding. 


LECTURE    THE    SIXTH 

STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH 

Roger  Sterne,  Sterne's  father,  was  the  second  son  of  a 
numerous  race,  descendants  of  Richard  Sterne,  Archbishop 
of  York,  in  the  reign  of  James  II.,  and  children  of  Simon 
Sterne  and  Mary  Jaques,  his  wife,  heiress  of  Elvington, 
near  York.  Roger  was  a  lieutenant  in  Handyside's  regi- 
ment, and  engaged  in  Flanders  in  Queen  Anne's  wars. 
He  married  the  daughter  of  a  noted  sutler  ("  N.B.,  he 
was  in  debt  to  him,"  his  son  writes,  pursuing  the  paternal 
biography),  and  marched  through  the  world  with  this 
companion,  she  following  the  regiment,  and  bringing  many 
children  to  poor  Roger  Sterne.  The  captain  was  an  iras- 
cible but  kind  and  simple  little  man,  Sterne  says,  and 
informs  us  that  his  sire  was  run  through  the  body  at 
Gibraltar,  by  a  brother  officer,  in  a  duel  which  arose  out 

5    of  a  dispute  about  a  goose.     Roger  never  entirely  recov- 

-  ered  from  the  effects  of  this  rencontre,  but  died  presently 
at  Jamaica,  whither  he  had  followed  the  drum. 

Lawrence,  his  second  child,  w^as  born  at  Clonmel,  in 
Ireland,  in  1713,  and  travelled  for  the  first  ten  years  of 

o    his  life,  on  his  father's  march,  from  barrack  to  transport, 
from  Ireland  to  England. 

One  relative  of  his  mother's  took  her  and  her  family 
under  shelter  for  ten  months  at  Mullingar;  another  col- 
lateral descendant  of  the  Archbishop's  housed  them  for  a 

5    year  at  his  castle  near  Carrickfergus.     Larry  Sterne  was 

185 


186  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

put  to  school  at  Halifax  in  England,  finally  was  adopted 
by  his  kinsman  of  Elvington,  and  parted  company  with 
his  father  the  Captain,  who  marched  on  his  path  of  life 
till  he  met  the  fatal  goose  which  closed  his  career.  The 

5     most  picturesque  and  delightful  parts  of  Lawrence  Sterne's 

writings  we  owe  to  his  recollections  of  the  military  life. 

^-^Tnm's  montero  cap,   and   Le   Fevre's   sword,   and   dear 

Uncle  Toby's  roquelaure  are  doubtless  reminiscences  of 

the  boy  who  had  lived  with  the  followers  of  William  and 

10  Marl  borough,  and  had  beaten  time  with  his  little  feet  to 
the  fifes  of  Ramillies  in  Dublin  barrack-yard,  or  played 
with  the  torn  flags  and  halberds  of  Malplaquet  on  the 
parade-ground  at  Clonmel. 

Lawrence  remained  at  Halifax  school  till  he  was  eigh- 
ts teen  years  old.  His  wit  and  cleverness  appear  to  have 
acquired  the  respect  of  his  master  here;  for  when  the 
usher  whipped  Lawrence  for  writing  his  name  on  the 
newly  whitewashed  schoolroom  ceiling,  the  pedagogue  in 
chief  rebuked  the  understrapper,  and  said  that  the  name 

20    should  never  be  effaced,  for  Sterne  was  a  boy  of  genius, 

•*-»   and  would  come  to  preferment. 

His  cousin,  the  Squire  of  Elvington,  sent  Sterne  to  Jesus 
College,  Cambridge,  where  he  remained  five  years,  and 
taking  orders,  got  through  his  uncle's  interest  the  living 

25  of  Sutton  and  the  prebendary  of  York.  Through  his 
wife's  connections  he  got  the  living  of  Stillington.  He 
married  her  in  1741,  having  ardently  courted  the  young 
lady  for  some  years  previously.  It  was  not  until  the 
young  lady  fancied  herself  dying  that  she  made  Sterne 

so  acquainted  with  the  extent  of  her  liking  for  him.  One 
evening  when  he  was  sitting  with  her,  with  an  almost 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH  187 

broken  heart  to  see  her  so  ill  (the  Reverend  Mr.  Sterne's 
heart  was  a  good  deal  broken  in  the  course  of  his  life), 
she  said :  "  My  dear  Laurey,  I  never  can  be  yours,  for 
I  verily  believe  I  have  not  long  to  live;  but  I  have  left 
you  every  shilling  of  my  fortune,"  —  a  generosity  which 
overpowered  Sterne.  She  recovered;  and  so  they  were 
married,  and  grew  heartily  tired  of  each  other  before 
many  years  were  over.  "  Nescio  quid  est  materia  cum 
me,"  Sterne  writes  to  one  of  his  friends  (in  dog-Latin, 

>  and  very  sad  dog-Latin  too)  ;  "  sed  sum  fatigatus  et  aegro- 
tus  de  mea  uxore  plus  quam  unquam,"  —  which  means,  I 
am  sorry  to  say,  "  I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with 
me ;  but  I  am  more  tired  and  sick  of  my  wife  than  ever." 

This  to  be  sure  was  five-and-twenty  years  after  Laurey 
s  had  been  overcome  by  her  generosity,  and  she  by  Laurey's 
love.  Then  he  wrote  to  her  of  the  delights  of  marriage, 
saying:  "We  will  be  as  merry  and  as  innocent  as  our 
first  parents  in  Paradise,  before  the  arch-fiend  entered  that 
indescribable  scene.  The  kindest  affections  will  have  room 

>  to  expand  in  our  retirement;  let  the  human  tempest  and 
hurricane  rage  at  a  distance,  the  desolation  is  beyond  the 
horizon  of  peace.     My  L.  has  seen  a  polyanthus  blow  in 
December?  —  some   friendly  wall   has   sheltered   it   from 
the  biting  wind.     No  planetary  influence  shall  reach  us 

5  but  that  which  presides  and  cherishes  the  sweetest  flowers. 
The  gloomy  family  of  care  and  distrust  shall  be  banished 
from  our  dwelling,  guarded  by  thy  kind  and  tutelar  deity. 
We  will  sing  our  choral  songs  of  gratitude,  and  rejoice 
to  the  end  of  our  pilgrimage.  Adieu,  my  L.  Return 

>  to  one  who  languishes   for  thy  society!      As   I   take  up 
my  pen,  my  poor  pulse  quickens,  my  pale  face  glows,  and 


188  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

tears    are    trickling    down    on    my    paper    as    I    trace    the 
word  L." 

And  it  is  about  this  woman,  with  whom  he  finds  no 
fault    but    that    she    bores    him,    that   our    philanthropist 

*  writes,  "  Sum  fatigatus  et  aegrotus."  Sum  mortaliter  in 
amore  with  somebody  else !  That  fine  flower  of  love,  that 
polyanthus  over  which  Sterne  snivelled  so  many  tears, 
could  not  last  for  a  quarter  of  a  century ! 

Or  rather  it  could  not  be  expected  that  a  gentleman 

10    with  such  a  fountain  at  command  should  keep  it  to  arroser 
one  homely  old  lady,  when  a  score  of  younger  and  pret- 
tier people   might   be   refreshed   from   the  same   gushing 
source.     It  was  in  December,    1767,   that  the  Reverend 
//''Lawrence    Sterne,    the    famous    Shandean,    the   charming 

is  Yorick,  the  delight  of  the  fashionable  world,  the  delicious 
divine  for  whose  sermons  the  whole  polite  world  was 
subscribing,  the  occupier  of  Rabelais's  easy  chair  (only 
fresh  stuffed  and  more  elegant  than  when  in  possession 
of  the  cynical  old  curate  of  Meudon),  the  more  than  rival 
>*(j^  of  the  Dean  of  Saint  Patrick's,  wrote  the  above-quoted 
respectable  letter  to  his  friend  in  London ;  and  it  was  in 
April  of  the  same  year  that  he  was  pouring  out  his  fond 
heart  to  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Draper,  wife  of  "  Daniel  Draper, 
Esquire,  Councillor  of  Bombay,  and  in  1775  chief  of  the 

23  factory  of  Surat,  —  a  gentleman  very  much  respected  in 
that  quarter  of  the  globe." 

"  I  got  thy  letter  last  night,  Eliza,"  Sterne  writes,  "  on  my 
return  from  Lord  Bathurst's,  where  I  dined  [the  letter  has  this 
merit  in  it,  that  it  contains  a  pleasant  reminiscence  of  better  men 
so  than  Sterne,  and  introduces  us  to  a  portrait  of  a  kind  old  gentle- 
man] —  I  got  thy  letter  last  night,  Eliza,  on  my  return  from  Lord 
Bathurst's,  and  where  I  was  heard,  as  I  talked  of  thee  an  hour 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH  189 

without  intermission,  with  so  much  pleasure  and  attention  that 
the  good  old  Lord  toasted  your  health  three  different  times;  and 
now  he  is  in  his  85th  year,  says  he  hopes  to  live  long  enough  to  be 
introduced  as  a  friend  to  my  fair  Indian  disciple,  and  to  see  her 
eclipse  all  other  Nabobesses  as  much  in  wealth  as  she  does  already 
in  exterior,  and,  what  is  far  better  [for  Sterne  is  nothing  without 
his  morality],  in  interior  merit.  This  nobleman  is  an  old  friend 
of  mine.  You  know  he  was  always  the  protector  of  men  of  wit 
and  genius,  and  has  had  those  of  the  last  century  —  Addison, 
Steele,  Pope,  Swift,  Prior,  &c.  —  always  at  his  table.  The  manner 
in  which  his  notice  began  of  me  was  as  singular  as  it  was  polite. 
He  came  up  to  me  one  day  as  I  was  at  the  Princess  of  Wales's 
Court,  and  said :  *  I  want  to  know  you,  Mr.  Sterne,  but  it  is  fit 
you  also  should  know  who  it  is  that  wishes  this  pleasure.  You 
have  heard  of  an  old  Lord  Bathurst,  of  whom  your  Popes  and 
Swifts  have  sung  and  spoken  so  much?  I  have  lived  my  life 
with  geniuses  of  that  cast,  but  have  survived  them;  and  despair- 
ing ever  to  find  their  equals,  it  is  some  years  since  I  have  shut  up 
my  books  and  closed  my  accounts.  But  you  have  kindled  a  desire 
in  me  of  opening  them  once  more  before  I  die,  —  which  I  now  do ; 
so  go  home  and  dine  with  me.'  This  nobleman,  I  say,  is  a 
prodigy,  for  he  has  all  the  wit  and  promptness  of  a  man  of 
thirty:  a  disposition  to  be  pleased,  and  a  power  to  please  others, 
beyond  whatever  I  knew,  —  added  to  which  a  man  of  learning, 
courtesy,  and  feeling. 

"  He  heard  me  talk  of  thee,  Eliza,  with  uncommon  satisfaction, 
for  there  was  only  a  third  person,  and  of  sensibility,  with  us ;  and 
a  most  sentimental  afternoon  till  nine  o'clock  have  we  passed ! 
But  thou,  Eliza,  wert  the  star  that  conducted  and  enlivened  the 
discourse !  And  when  I  talked  not  of  thee,  still  didst  thou  fill  my 
mind  and  warm  every  thought  I  uttered,  for  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
acknowledge  I  greatly  miss  thee.  Best  of  all  good  girls !  the 
sufferings  I  have  sustained  all  night  in  consequence  of  thine, 
Eliza,  are  beyond  the  power  of  words.  .  .  .  And  so  thou  hast 
fixed  thy  Bramin's  portrait  over  thy  writing-desk,  and  wilt  consult 
it  in  all  doubts  and  difficulties?  Grateful  and  good  girl!  Yorick 
smiles  contentedly  over  all  thou  dost;  his  picture  does  not  do  jus- 


190  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

tice  to  his  own  complacency.  I  am  glad  your  shipmates  are 
friendly  beings  [Eliza  was  at  Deal,  going  back  to  the  Councillor 
at  Bombay;  and  indeed  it  was  high  time  she  should  be  off].  You 
could  least  dispense  with  what  is  contrary  to  your  own  nature, 
which  is  soft  and  gentle,  Eliza ;  it  would  civilize  savages,  though 
pity  were  it  thou  should'st  be  tainted  with  the  office.  Write  to  me, 
my  child,  thy  delicious  letters.  Let  them  speak  the  easy  carelessness 
of  a  heart  that  opens  itself  anyhow,  everyhow.  Such,  Eliza,  I 
write  to  thee !  [The  artless  rogue,  of  course  he  did!]  And  so  I 
should  ever  love  thee,  most  artlessly,  most  affectionately,  if  Provi- 
dence permitted  thy  residence  in  the  same  section  of  the  globe ; 
for  I  am  all  that  honor  and  affection  can  make  me 

"  *  THY  BRAMIN.'  " 

The  Bramin  continues  addressing  Mrs.  Draper  until  the 
departure  of  the  "  Earl  of  Chatham  "  Indiaman  from 
Deal,  on  the  2d  of  April,  1767.  He  is  amiably  anxious 
about  the  fresh  paint  for  Eliza's  cabin; 'he  is  uncommonly 
solicitous  about  her  companions  on  board :  — 

"  I  fear  the  best  of  your  shipmates  are  only  genteel  by  compari- 
son with  the  contrasted  crew  with  which  thou  beholdest  them.  So 
was  —  you  know  who  —  from  the  same  fallacy  which  was  put 
upon  your  judgment  when —  But  I  will  not  mortify  you!" 

"  You  know  who "  was,  of  course,  Daniel  Draper, 
Esquire,  of  Bombay,  —  a  gentleman  very  much  respected 
in  that  quarter  of  the  globe,  and  about  whose  probable 
health  our  worthy  Bramin  writes  with  delightful  can- 
dor: — 

"  I  honor  you,  Eliza,  for  keeping  secret  some  things  which,  if 
explained,  had  been  a  panegyric  on  yourself.  There  is  a  dignity 
in  venerable  affliction  which  will  not  allow  it  to  appeal  to  the 
world  for  pity  or  redress.  Well  have  you  supported  that  charac- 
ter, my  amiable,  my  philosophic  friend !  And,  indeed,  I  begin  to 
think  you  have  as  many  virtues  as  my  Uncle  Toby's  widow. 
Talking  of  widows,  —  pray,  Eliza,  if  ever  you  are  such,  do  not 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH  191 

think  of  giving  yourself  to  some  wealthy  Nabob,  because  I  design 
to  marry  you  myself.  My  wife  cannot  live  long,  and  I  know  not 
the  woman  I  should  like  so  well  for  her  substitute  as  yourself. 
'T  is  true  I  am  ninety-five  in  constitution,  and  you  but  twenty- 
five;  but  what  I  want  in  youth  I  will  make  up  in  wit  and  good- 
humor.  Not  Swift  so  loved  his  Stella,  Scarron  his  Maintenon,  or 
Waller  his  Saccharissa.  Tell  me,  in  answer  to  this,  that  you 
approve  and  honor  the  proposal." 

Approve  and  honor  the  proposal!  The  coward  was 
Writing  gay  letters  to  his  friends  this  while,  with  sneer- 
ing allusions  to  this  poor  foolish  Bramine.  Her  ship 
was  not  out  of  the  Downs  and  the  charming  Sterne  was 
at  the  Mount  Coffee-house,  with  a  sheet  of  gilt-edged 
paper  before  him,  offering  that  precious  treasure  his  heart 

to  Lady  P ,  asking  whether  it  gave  her  pleasure  to 

see  him  unhappy,  whether  it  added  to  her  triumph  that 
her  eyes  and  lips  had  turned  a  man  into  a  fool,  —  quoting 
the  Lord's  Prayer,  with  a  horrible  baseness  of  blasphemy, 
as  a  proof  that  he  had  desired  not  to  be  led  into  tempta- 
tion, and  swearing  himself  the  most  tender  and  sincere  fool 
in  the  world !  It  was  from  his  home  at  Coxwould  that 
he  wrote  the  Latin  letter,  which,  I  suppose,  he  was 
ashamed  to  put  into  English.  I  find  in  my  copy  of  the 
Letters  that  there  is  a  note  of,  I  cannot  call  it  admiration, 
at  Letter  112,  which  seems  to  announce  that  there  was 
a  No.  3  to  whom  the  wretched,  worn-out  old  scamp  was 
paying  his  addresses;  and  the  year  after,  having  come 
back  to  his  lodgings  in  Bond  Street,  with  his  "  Sentimen- 
tal Journey"  to  launch  upon  the  town,  eager  as  ever  for 
praise  and  pleasure,  —  as  vain,  as  wicked,  as  witty,  as  false 
as  he  had  ever  been,  —  death  at  length  seized  the  feeble 
wretch,  and  on  the  18th  of  March,  1768,  that  "  bale  of 


192  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

cadaverous  goods,"  as  he  calls  his  body,  was  consigned  to 
Pluto.  In  his  last  letter  there  is  one  sign  of  grace,  —  the 
real  affection  with  which  he  entreats  a  friend  to  be  a. 
guardian  to  his  daughter  Lydia.  All  his  letters  to  her 
are  artless,  kind,  affectionate,  and  not  sentimental,  —  as 
a  hundred  pages  in  his  writings  are  beautiful,  and  full, 
not  of  surprising  humor  merely,  but  of  genuine  love  and 
kindness.  A  perilous  trade,  indeed,  is  that  of  a  man  who 
has  to  bring  his  tears  and  laughter,  his  recollections,  his 
personal  griefs  and  joys,  his  private  thoughts  and  feelings 
to  market,  to  write  them  on  paper  and  sell  them  for 
money!  Does  he  exaggerate  his  grief,  so  as  to  get  his 
reader's  pity  for  a  false  sensibility;  feign  indignation,  so 
as  to  establish  a  character  for  virtue ;  elaborate  repartees, 
so  that  he  may  pass  for  a  wit;  steal  from  other  authors, 
and  put  down  the  theft  to  the  credit  side  of  his  own  repu- 
tation for  ingenuity  and  learning;  feign  originality;  affect 
benevolence  or  misanthropy;  appeal  to  the  gallery  gods 
with  claptraps  and  vulgar  baits  to  catch  applause? 

How  much  of  the  paint  and  emphasis  is  necessary  for 
the  fair  business  of  the  stage,  and  how  much  of  the  rant 
and  rouge  is  put  on  for  the  vanity  of  the  actor?  His 
audience  trusts  him:  can  he  trust  himself?  How  much 
was  deliberate  calculation  and  imposture,  how  much  was 
false  sensibility,  and  how  much  true  feeling?  Where  did 
the  lie  begin,  and  did  he  know  where;  and  where  did  the 
truth  end  in  the  art  and  scheme  of  this  man  of  genius, 
this  actor,  this  quack?  Some  time  since,  I  was  in  the 
company  of  a  French  actor  who  began  after  dinner,  and 
at  his  own  request,  to  sing  French  songs  of  the  sort  called 
des  chansons  grivoises,  and  which  he  performed  admir- 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH  193 

ably,  and  to  the  dissatisfaction  of  most  persons  present. 
Having  finished  these,  he  commenced  a  sentimental  ballad ; 
it  was  so  charmingly  sung   that   it   touched   all   persons 
present,    and   especially   the   singer   himself,   whose   voice 
trembled,  whose  eyes  filled  with  emotion,  and  who  was 
snivelling  and  weeping  quite  genuine  tears  by  the  time  his 
own  ditty  was  over.     I  suppose  Sterne  had  this  artistical^ 
sensibility;  he  used  to  blubber  perpetually  in  his  study;  ^ 
and   finding  his   tears   infectious,   and   that   they  brought  [ 
him  a  great  popularity,  he  exercised  the  lucrative  gift  of  | 
weeping:  he  utilized  it,  and  cried  on  every  occasion.     I    • 
>  own    that  I  do  not  value  or  respect  much  the  cheap  drib- 
ble of  those  fountains.     He  fatigues  me  with  his  perpetual 
disquiet  and  his  uneasy  appeals  to  my  risible  or  sentimental 
faculties.     He  is  always  looking  in  my  face,  watching  his 
effect,  uncertain  whether  I  think  him  an  impostor  or  not, 
—  posture-making,    coaxing,    and    imploring    me:      "  See 
what  sensibility  I  have!     Own  now  that  I'm  very  clever! 
Do  cry  now,  you  can't  resist  this !  "    The  humor  of  Swift    ^\ 
and  Rabelais,  whom  he  pretended  to  succeed,  poured  from 
them  as  naturally  as  a  song  does  from  a  bird ;  they  lose 
no  manly  dignity  with  it,  but  laugh  their  hearty  great 
laugh  out  of  their  broad  chests  as  nature  bade  them.     But 
this  man  —  who  can  make  you  laugh,  who  can  make  you 
cry  too  —  never  lets  his  reader  alone,  or  will  permit  his 
audience  repose;  when  yofu  are  quiet,  he  fancies  he  must 
rouse  you,  and  turns  over  head  and  heels,  or  sidles  up 
and  whispers  a  nasty  story.    The  man  is  a  great  jester,  not  S 
a  great  humorist.     He  goes  to  work  systematically  and  of    *» 
cold  blood ;  paints  his  face,  puts  on  his  ruff  and  motley 
clothes,  and  lays  down  his  carpet  and  tumbles  on  it. 


194  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

For  instance,  take  the  "  Sentimental  Journey,"  and  see 
in  the  writer  the  deliberate  propensity  to  make  points  and 
seek  applause.  He  gets  to  Dessein's  Hotel;  he  wants  a 
carriage  to  travel  to  Paris,  he  goes  to  the  inn-yard,  and 
5  begins  what  the  actors  call  "  business  "  at  once.  There  is 
that  little  carriage  (the  desobligeante)  :  — 

"  Four  months  had  elapsed  since  it  had  finished  its  career  of 
Europe  in  the  corner  of  Monsieur  Dessein's  coach-yard ;  and  hav-  J 
ing  sallied  out  thence  but  a  vamped-up  business  at  first,  though 

10  it  had  been  twice  taken  to  pieces  on  Mont  Cenis,  it  had  not 
profited  much  by  its  adventures,  but  by  none  so  little  as  the  stand- 
ing so  many  months  unpitied  in  the  corner  of  Monsieur  Dessein's 
coach-yard.  Much,  indeed,  was  not  to  be  said  for  it;  but  some- 
thing might ;  and  when  a  few  words  will  rescue  Misery  out  of  her 

15     distress,  I  hate  the  man  who  can  be  a  churl  of  them." 

Le  tour  est  fait!  Paillasse  has  tumbled!  Paillasse  has 
jumped  over  the  desobligeante,  cleared  it,  hood  and  all, 
and  bows  to  the  noble  company.  Does  anybody  believe 
that  this  is  a  real  sentiment;  that  this  luxury  of  gener- 

*>  osity,  this  gallant  rescue  of  Misery  out  of  an  old  cab,  is 
genuine  feeling?  It  is  as  genuine  as  the  virtuous  oratory 
of  Joseph  Surface,  when  he  begins,  "  The  man  who,"  &c., 
and  wishes  to  pass  off  for  a  saint  with  his  credulous,  good- 
humored  dupes. 

25  Our  friend  purchases  the  carriage.  After  turning  that 
notorious  old  monk  to  good  account,  and  effecting  (like  a 
soft  and  good-natured  Paillasse  as  he  was,  and  very  free 
writh  his  money  when  he  had  it)  an  exchange  of  snuff-boxes 
with  the  old  Franciscan,  jogs  out  of  Calais  ;  sets  down  in 

so  immense  figures  on  the  credit  side  of  his  account  the  sous 
he  gives  away  to  the  Montreuil  beggars ;  and  at  Nampont 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH  195 

gets  out  of  the  chaise  and  whimpers  over  that  famous  dead 
donkey,  for  which  any  sentimentalist  may  cry  who  will. 
It  is  agreeably  and  skilfully  done,  that  dead  jackass;  like 
Monsieur  de  Soubise's  cook  on  the  campaign,  Sterne  dresses 
it  and  serves  it  up  quite  tender  and  with  a  very  piquant 
sauce.  But  tears  and  fine  feelings,  and  a  white  pocket- 
handerchief  and  a  funeral  sermon,  and  horses  and  feathers, 
and  a  procession  of  mutes,  and  a  hearse  with  a  dead  donkey 
inside, —  psha,  mountebank!  I'll  not  give  thee  one  penny 
more  for  that  trick,  donkey  and  all ! 

This  donkey  had  appeared  once  before,  with  signal 
effect.  In  1765,  three  years  before  the  publication  of  the 
"  S eptiqien t al^Joturiey , ' '  the  seventh  and  eighth  volumes 
of  "  Tristram  Shandy  "  were  given  to  the  world,  and  the 
famous  Lyons  donkey  makes  his  entry  in  those  volumes 
(pp.  315,316):- 

"  'T  was  but  a  poor  ass,  with  a  couple  of  large  panniers  at  his 
back,  who  had  just  turned  in  to  collect  eleemosynary  turnip-tops 
and  cabbage-leaves,  and  stood  dubious,  with  his  two  forefeet  at 
the  inside  of  the  threshold,  and  with  his  two  hinder  feet  towards 
the  street,  as  not  knowing  very  well  whether  he  was  to  go  in 
or  no. 

"  Now,  'tis  an  animal  (be  in  what  hurry  I  may)  I  cannot  bear 
to  strike.  There  is  a  patient  endurance  of  suffering  written  so 
unaffectedly  in  his  looks  and  carriage,  which  pleads  so  mightily 
for  him  that  it  always  disarms  me,  and  to  that  degree  that  I  do 
not  like  to  speak  unkindly  to  him.  On  the  contrary,  meet  him 
where  I  will,  whether  in  town  or  country,  in  cart  or  under  pan- 
niers, whether  in  liberty  or  bondage,  I  have  ever  something  civil 
to  say  to  him  on  my  part;  and  as  one  word  begets  another  (if  he 
has  as  little  to  do  as  I),  I  generally  fall  into  conversation  with 
him.  And  surely  never  is  my  imagination  so  busy  as  in  framing 
responses  from  the  etchings  of  his  countenance;  and  where  those 


196  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

carry  me  not  deep  enough,  in  flying  from  my  own  heart  into  his, 
and  see  what  is  natural  for  an  ass  to  think   (as  well  as  a  man) 
upon   the  occasion.     In   truth,   it  is  the  only  creature  of   all  the 
classes  of   beings  below  me  with  whom  I  can  do  this.      . 
With  an  ass  I  can  commune  forever. 

"  *  Come,  Honesty/  said  I,  seeing  it  was  impracticable  to  pass 
betwixt  him  and  the  gate,  '  art  thou  for  coming  in  or  going  out  ?  ' 

"  The  ass  twisted  his  head  round  to  look  up  the  street. 

"  '  Well !'  replied  I,  '  we'll  wait  a  minute  for  thy  driver.' 

"  He  turned  his  head  thoughtful  about,  and  looked  wistfully  the 
opposite  way. 

"  '  I  understand  thee  perfectly,'  answered  I ;  *  if  thou  takest  a 
wrong  step  in  this  affair,  he  will  cudgel  thee  to  death.  Well!  a 
minute  is  but  a  minute ;  and  if  it  saves  a  fellow-creature  a 
drubbing,  it  shall  not  be  set  down  as  ill-spent.' 

"  He  was  eating  the  stem  of  an  artichoke  as  this  discourse  went 
on,  and  in  the  little  peevish  contentions  between  hunger  and 
unsavoriness  had  dropped  it  out  of  his  mouth  half-a-dozen  times, 
and  had  picked  it  up  again.  *  God  help  thee,  Jack !  '  said  I ;  *  thou 
hast  a  bitter  breakfast  on't;  and  many  a  bitter  day's  labor,  and 
many  a  bitter  blow,  I  fear,  for  its  wages!  'T  is  all,  all  bitterness 
to  thee,  whatever  life  is  to  others !  And  now  thy  mouth,  if  one 
knew  the  truth  of  it,  is  as  bitter,  I  dare  say,  as  soot '  (for  he  had 
cast  aside  the  stem),  '  and  thou  hast  not  a  friend  perhaps  in  all  this 
world  that  will  give  thee  a  macaroon.'  In  saying  this,  I  pulled  out 
a  paper  of  'em,  which  I  had  just  bought,  and  gave  him  one;  and 
at  this  moment  that  I  am  telling  it,  my  heart  smites  me  that  there 
was  more  of  pleasantry  in  the  conceit  of  seeing  ho<w  an  ass  would 
eat  a  macaroon  than  of  benevolence  in  giving  him  one,  which 
presided  in  the  act. 

"  When  the  ass  had  eaten  his  macaroon,  I  pressed  him  to  come 
in.  The  poor  beast  was  heavy  loaded ;  his  legs  seemed  to  tremble 
under  him;  he  hung  rather  backwards,  and  as  I  pulled  at  his 
halter  it  broke  in  my  hand.  He  looked  up  pensive  in  my  face: 
'  Don't  thrash  me  with  it;  but  if  you  will,  you  may!'  '  If  I  do,' 
said  I,  '  I'll  be  d .'  " 

A  critic  who  refuses  to  see  in  this  charming  description 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH  197 

wit,  humor,  pathos,  a  kind  nature  speaking,  and  a  real 
sentiment,  must  be  hard  indeed  to  move  and  to  please.  A 
page  or  two  further  we  come  to  a  description  not  less 
beautiful,  —  a  landscape  and  figures,  deliciously  painted 
by  one  who  had  the  keenest  enjoyment  and  the  most 
tremulous  sensibility :  — 

"  'T  was  in  the  road  between  Nismes  and  Lunel,  where  is  the 
best  Muscatto  wine  in  all  France;  the  sun  was  set;  they  had  done 
their  work:  the  nymphs  had  tied  up  their  hair  afresh,  and  the 
swains  were  preparing  for  a  carousal.  My  mule  made  a  dead 
point.  ''Tis  the  pipe  and  tambourine,'  said  I:  'I  never  will 
argue  a  point  with  one  of  your  family  as  long  as  I  live;'  so  leap- 
ing off  his  back,  and  kicking  off  one  boot  into  this  ditch  and  t'other 
into  that,  '  I'll  take  a  dance,'  said  I,  '  so  stay  you  here.' 

"  A  sunburnt  daughter  of  labor  rose  up  from  the  group  to  meet 
me  as  I  advanced  towards  them;  her  hair,  which  was  of  a  dark 
chestnut  approaching  to  a  black,  was  tied  up  in  a  knot,  all  but  a 
single  tress. 

"  l  We  want  a  cavalier,'  said  she,  holding  out  both  her  hands,  as 
if  to  offer  them.  '  And  a  cavalier  you  shall  have,'  said  I,  taking 
hold  of  both  of  them.  '  We  could  not  have  done  without  you,' 
said  she,  letting  go  one  hand,  with  self-taught  politeness,  and 
leading  me  up  with  the  other. 

"  A  lame  youth,  whom  Apollo  had  recompensed  with  a  pipe, 
and  to  which  he  had  added  a  tambourine  of  his  own  accord,  ran 
sweetly  over  the  prelude  as  he  sat  upon  the  bank.  '  Tie  me  up 
this  tress  instantly,'  said  Nannette,  putting  a  piece  of  string  into 
my  hand.  It  taught  me  to  forget  I  was  a  stranger.  The  whole 
knot  fell  down,  —  we  had  been  seven  years  acquainted.  The 
youth  struck  the  note  upon  the  tambourine,  his  pipe  followed,  and 
off  we  bounded. 

"  The  sister  of  the  youth,  who  had  stolen  her  voice  from  heaven, 
sang  alternately  with  her  brother.  'Twas  a  Gascoigne  rounde- 
lay: 'Viva  la  joia,  fidon  la  iristessa.'  The  nymphs  joined  in 
unison,  and  their  swains  an  octave  below  them. 


198  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

"  Viva  la  joia  was  in  Nannette's  lips,  viva  la  joia  in  her  eyes 
A  transient  spark  of  amity  shot  across  the  space  betwixt  us.  She 
looked  amiable.  Why  could  I  not  live  and  end  my  days  thus? 
'Just  Disposer  of  our  jovs  and  sorrows!  '  cried  I,  'why  could  not 
5  a  man  sit  down  in  the  lap  of  content  here,  and  dance  and  sing 
and  say  his  prayers  and  go  to  heaven  with  this  nut-brown  maid?' 
Capriciously  did  she  bend  her  head  on  one  side,  and  dance  up 
insidious.  *  Then  't  is  time  to  dance  off,'  quoth  I." 

And  with  this  pretty  dance  and  chorus,  the  volume  art- 
10    fully  concludes.     Even  here  one  cannot  give  the  whole 
description.     There  is  not  a  page  in  Sterne's  writing  but 
v  has  something  that  were  better  away,  —  a  latent  corrup- 
tion, a  hint  as  of  an  impure  presence. 

Some  of  that  dreary  double  entendre  may  be  attributed 

15    to  freer  times  and  manners  than  ours,  but  not  all.     The 

foul  satyr's  eyes  leer  out  of  the  leaves  constantly;  the  last 

words  the  famous  author  wrote  were  bad  and  wicked ;  the 

/^last  lines  the  poor  stricken  wretch  penned  were  for  pity 

/      and  pardon.     I  think  of  these  past  writers  and  of  one  who 

L2o    lives  amongst  us  now,  and  am  grateful  for  the  innocent 

\J     laughter   and    the    sweet   and    unsullied    page    which    the 

)      author  of  "  David  Copperfield  "  gives  to  my  children. 

"  Jete   sur  cette  boule, 

Laid,  chetif  et  souifrant; 
25  Etouffe  dans  la  foule, 

Faute  d'etre  assez  grand: 

"  Une  plainte  touchante 
De  ma  bouche  sortit. 
Le  bon  Dieu  me  dit:     Chante, 
30  Chante,  pauvre  petit! 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH  199 

"  Chanter,  ou  je  m'abuse, 
Est  ma  tache  ici-bas. 
Tous  ceux  qu'ainsi  j 'amuse, 
Ne  m'aimeront-ils  pas?" 

In  those  charming  lines  of  Beranger,  one  may  fancy 
described  the  career,  the  sufferings,  the  genius,  the  gentle 
nature  of  Goldsmith,  and  the  esteem  in  which  we  hold 
\hirn.  Who  of  the  millions  whom  he  has  amused  does 
Inot  love  him?  To  be  the  most  beloved  of  English  writers, 
what  a  title  that  is  for  a  man!  A  wild  youth,  wayward, 
but  full  of  tenderness  and  affection,  quits  the  country  vil- 
lage where  his  boyhood  has  been  passed  in  happy  musing, 
in  idle  shelter,  in  fond  longing  to  see  the  great  world  out 
of  doors,  and  achieve  name  and  fortune ;  and  after  years 
of  dire  struggle  and  neglect  and  poverty,  his  heart  turning 
back  as  fondly  to  his  native  place  as  it  had  longed  eagerly 
for  change  when  sheltered  there,  he  writes  a  book  and  a 
poem,  full  of  the  recollections  and  feelings  of  home;  he 
paints  the  friends  and  scenes  of  his  youth,  and  peoples 
Auburn  and  Wakefield  with  remembrances  of  Lissoy. 
Wander  he  must,  but  he  carries  away  a  home-relic  with 
him,  and  dies  with  it  on  his  breast.  His  nature  is  truant; 
in  repose  it  longs  for  change,  —  as  on  the  journey  it  looks 
back  for  friends  and  quiet.  He  passes  to-day  in  building 
an  air-castle  for  to-morrow,  or  in  writing  yesterday's 
elegy;  and  he  would  fly  away  this  hour,  but  that  a  cage, 
necessity,  keeps  him.  What  is  the  charm  of  his  verse,  of 
his  style  and  humor  ?  —  his  sweet  regrets,  his  delicate 
compassion,  his  soft  smile,  his  tremulous  sympathy,  the 
weakness  which  he  owns  ?  Your  love  for  him  is  half  pity. 
You  come  hot  and  tired  from  the  day's  battle,  .and  this 


200  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

sweet  minstrel  sings  to  you.  Who  could  harm  the  kind 
vagrant  harper?  Whom  did  he  ever  hurt?  He  carries 
no  weapon  save  the  harp  on  which  he  plays  to  you  and 
with  which  he  delights  great  and  humble,  young  and  old, 

5  the  captains  in  the  tents  or  the  ^oldiers  round  the  fire,  or 
the  women  and  children  in  the  villages,  at  whose  porches 
he  stops  and  sings  his  simple  songs  of  love  and  beauty. 
With  that  sweet  story  of  the  "  Vicar  of  Wakefield  "  he 
has  found  entry  into  every  castle  and  every  hamlet  in 

10  Europe.  Not  one  of  us,  however  busy  or  hard,  but  once 
or  twice  in  our  lives  has  passed  an  evening  with  him,  and 
undergone  the  charm  of  his  delightful  music. 

Goldsmith's    father    was    no    doubt    the    good    Doctor 
Primrose,  whom  we  all  of  us  know.     Swift  was  yet  alive, 

is  when  the  little  Oliver  was  born  at  Pallas,  or  Pallasmore, 
in  the  county  of  Longford,  in  Ireland.  In  1730,  two 
years  after  the  child's  birth,  Charles  Goldsmith  removed 
his  family  to  Lissoy,  in  the'  county  Westmeath,  —  that 
sweet  "  Auburn  "  which  every  person  who  hears  me  has 

20  seen  in  fancy.  Here  the  kind  parson  brought  up  his 
eight  children;  and  loving  all  the  world,  as  his  son  says, 
fancied  all  the  world  loved  him.  He  had  a  crowd  of 
poor  dependents  besides  those  hungry  children.  He  kept 
an  open  table,  round  which  sat  flatterers  and  poor  friends, 

25  who  laughed  at  the  honest  rector's  many  jokes,  and  ate 
the  produce  of  his  seventy  acres  of  farm.  Those  who 
have  seen  an  Irish  house  in  the  present  day  can  fancy 
that  one  of  Lissoy.  The  old  beggar  still  has  his  allotted 
corner  by  the  kitchen  turf;  the  maimed  old  soldier  still 

so  gets  his  potatoes  and  buttermilk;  the  poor  cottier  still 
asks  his  .Honor's  charity,  and  prays  God  bless  his  Rever- 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH  201 

ence  for  the  sixpence ;  the  ragged  pensioner  still  takes  his 
place  by  right  and  sufferance.  There  is  still  a  crowd  in 
the  kitchen,  and  a  crowd  round  the  parlor  table;  pro- 
fusion, confusion,  kindness,  poverty.  If  an  Irishman 
comes  to  London  to  make  his  fortune,  he  has  va  half- 
dozen  of  Irish  dependents  who  take  a  percentage  of  his 
earnings.  The  good  Charles  Goldsmith  left  but  little 
provision  for  his  hungry  race  when  death  summoned  him  ; 
and  one  of  his  daughters  being  engaged  to  a  Squire  of 
rather  superior  dignity,  Charles  Goldsmith  impoverished 
the  rest  of  his  family  to  provide  the  girl  with  a  dowry. 
The  small-pox,  wrhich  scourged  all  Europe  at  that  time, 
and  ravaged  the  roses  off  the  cheeks  of  half  the  world, 
fell  foul  of  poor  little  Oliver's  face  when  the  child  was 
eight  years  old,  and  left  him  scarred  and  disfigured  for  his 
life.  An  old  woman  in  his  father's  village  taught  him 
his  letters,  and  pronounced  him  a  dunce.  Paddy  Byrne,, 
the  hedge-schoolmaster,  then  took  him  in  hand;  and  from 
Paddy  Byrne,  he  was  transmitted  to  a  clergyman  at  Elphin. 
When  a  child  was  sent  to  school  in  those  days,  the  classic 
phrase  was  that  he  was  placed  under  Mr.  So-and-so's 
ferule.  Poor  little  ancestors !  it  is  hard  to  think  how  ruth- 
lessly you  were  birched,  and  how  much  of  needless  whip- 
ping and  tears  our  small  forefathers  had  to  undergo!  A 
relative  —  kind  Uncle  Contarine  —  took  thg  main  charge 
of  little  Noll ;  who  went  through  his  school-days  right- 
eously doing  as  little  work  as  he  could,  robbing  orchards, 
playing  at  ball,  and  making  his  pocket-money  fly  about 
whenever  fortune  sent  it  to  him.  Everybody  knows  the 
story  of  that  famous  "  Mistake  of  a  Night,"  when  the 
young  schoolboy,  provided  with  a  guinea  and  a  nag,  rode 


202  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

/" 

up  to  the  "  best  house  "  in  Ardagh,  called  for  the  land- 
lord's company  over  a  bottle  of  wine  at  supper,  and  for  a 
hot  cake  for  breakfast  in  the  morning,  - —  and  found,  when 
he  asked  for  the  bill,  that  the  best  house  was  Squire 
Featherstone's,  and  not  the  inn  for  which  he  mistook  it.  j 
Who  does  not  know  every  story  about  Goldsmith?  That 
is  a  delightful  and  fantastic  picture  of  the  child  dancing 
and  capering  about  in  the  kitchen  at  home,  when  the  old 
fiddler  gibed  at  him  for  his  ugliness,  and  called  him  .ZEsop ; 
and  little  Noll  made  his  repartee  of  — 

"Heralds  proclaim  aloud  this  saying: 
See  ^Esop  dancing  and  his  monkey  playing." 

One  can  fancy  the  queer,  pitiful  look  of  humor  and  appeal 
upon  that  little  scarred  face,  the  funny  little  dancing 
figure,  the  funny  little  brogue.  In  his  life  and  his  writ- 
•ings,  which  are  the  honest  expression  of  it,  he  is  con- 
stantly bewailing  that  homely  face  and  person ;  anon  he 
surveys  them  in  the  glass  ruefully,  and  presently  assumes 
the  most  comical  dignity.  He  likes  to  deck  out  his  little 
person  in  splendor  and  fine  colors.  He  presented  himself 
to  be  examined  for  ordination  in  a  pair  of  scarlet  breeches, 
and  said  honestly  that  he  did  not  like  to  go  into  the  Church 
because  he  was  fond  of  colored  clothes.  When  he  tried 
to  practise  as  a  doctor,  he  got  by  hook  or  by  crook  a  black 
velvet  suit,  and  looked  as  big  and  grand  as  he  could,  and 
kept  his  hat  over  a  patch  on  the  old  coat.  In  better  days 
he  bloomed  out  in  plum-color,  in  blue  silk,  and  in  new 
velvet.  For  some  of  those  splendors  the  heirs  and  assig- 
nees of  Mr.  Filby,  the  tailor,  have  never  been  paid  to  this 
day ;  perhaps  the  kind  tailor  and  his  creditor  have  met 
and  settled  the  little  account  in  Hades. 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH  203    . 

They  showed  until  lately  a  window  at  Trinity  College, 
Dublin,  on  which  the  name  of  O.  Goldsmith  was  engraved 
[with  a  diamond.  Whose  diamond  was  it?  Not  the 
woung  sizar's,  who  made  but  a  poor  figure  in  that  place 
pf  learning.  He  was  idle,  penniless,  and  fond  of  pleas- 
ure ;  he  learned  his  way  early  to  the  pawnbroker's  shop.  \ 
He  wrote  ballads, '  they  say,  for  the  street-singers,  who 
paid  him  a  crown  for  a  poem;  and  his  pleasure  was  to 
steal  out  at  night  and  hear  his  verses  sung.  He  was 
chastised  by  his  tutor  for  giving  a  dance  in  his  rooms, 
and  took  the  box  on  the  ear  so  much  to  heart  that  he 
packed  up  his  all,  pawned  his  books  and  little  property, 
and  disappeared  from  college  and  family.  He  said  he 
intended  to  go  to  America;  but  when  his  money  was 
spent,  the  young  prodigal  came  home  ruefully,  and  the 
good  folks  there  killed  their  calf  (it  was  but  a  lean  one) 
and  welcomed  him  back. 

After  college  he  hung  about  his  mother's  house,  and 
lived  for  some  years  the  life  of  a  buckeen,  —  passed  a 
month  with  this  relation  and  that,  a  year  with  one  patron, 
and  a  great  deal  of  time  at  the  public-house.  Tired  of 
this  life,  it  was  resolved  that  he  should  go  to  London, 
and  study  at  the  Temple;  but  he  got  no  farther  on  the 
road  to  London  and  the  woolsack  than  Dublin,  where 
he  gambled  away  the  fifty  pounds  given  him  for  his  outfit, 
and  whence  he  returned  to  the  indefatigable  forgiveness 
of  home.  Then  he  determined  to  be  a  doctor,  and  Uncle 
Contarine  helped  him  to  a  couple  of  years  at  Edinburgh. 
Then  from  Edinburgh  he  felt  that  he  ought  to  hear  the 
famous  professors  of  Leyden  and  Paris,  and  wrote  most 
amusing  pompous  letters  to  his  uncle  about  the  great 


204  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

Farheim,  Du  Petit,  and  Duhamel  du  Monceau,  whose 
lectures  he  proposed  to  follow.  If  Uncle  Contarine 
believed  those  letters;  if  Oliver's  mother  believed  that  story j 
which  the  youth  related,  of  his  going  to  Cork  with  the] 
purpose  of  embarking  for  America,  of  his  having  paid  his; 
passage-money  and  having  sent  his  kit  on  board,  of  the 
anonymous  captain  sailing  away  with  Oliver's  valuable 
luggage  in  a  nameless  ship,  never  to  return,  —  if  Uncle  j 
Contarine  and  the  mother  at  Ballymahon  believed  his! 
stories,  they  must  have  been  a  very  simple  pair,  as  it  was 
a  very  simple  rogue  indeed  who  cheated  them.  When  the 
lad,  after  failing  in  his  clerical  examination,  after  failing 
in  his  plan  for  studying  the  law,  took  leave  of  these  projects 
and  of  his  parents  and  set  out  for  Edinburgh,  he  saw  mother 
and  uncle,  and  lazy  Ballymahon,  and  green  native  turf 
and  sparkling  river  for  the  last  time.  He  was  never  to 
look  on  Old  Ireland  more,  and  only  in  fancy  revisit  her. 

"  But  me  not  destined  such  delights  to  share, 
My  prime  of  life  in  wandering  spent  and  care, 
Impelled,  with  steps  unceasing,  to  pursue 
Some  fleeting  good  that  mocks  me  with  the  view ; 
That  like  the  circle  bounding  earth  and  skies 
Allures  from  far,  yet,  as  I  follow,  flies: 
My  fortune  leads  to  traverse  realms  alone, 
And  find  no  spot  of  all  the  world  my  own." 

I  spoke  in  a  former  lecture  of  that  high  courage  which 
enabled  Fielding,  in  spite  of  disease,  remorse,  and  poverty, 
always  to  retain  a  cheerful  spirit  and  to  keep  his  manly 
benevolence  and  love  of  truth  intact,  —  as  if  these  treas- 
ures had  been  confided  to  him  for  the  public  benefit,  and 
he  was  accountable  to  posterity  for  their  honorable  em- 
ploy; and  a  constancy  equally  happy  and  admirable  li 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH  205 

think  was  shown  by  Goldsmith,  whose  sweet  and  friendly 
pature  bloomed  kindly  always  in  the  midst  of  a  life's 
ptorm  and  rain  and  bitter  weather.  The  poor  fellow 
was  never  so  friendless  but  he  could  befriend  some  one; 
never  so  pinched  and  wretched  but  he  could  give  of  his 
crust,  and  speak  his  word  of  compassion.  If  he  had  but 
tiis  flute  left,  he  could  give  that,  and  make  the  children 
happy  in  the  dreary  London  court.  He  could  give  the 
coals  in  that  queer  coal-scuttle  we  read  of  to  his  poor 
neighbor;  he  could  give  away  his  blankets  in  college  to 
the  poor  widow,  and  warm  himself  as  he  best  might  in 
the  feathers;  he  could  pawn  his  coat,  to  save  his  land- 
lord from  jail.  When  he  was  a  school-usher  he  spent 
his  earnings  in  treats  for  the  boys,  and  the  good-natured 
schoolmaster's  wife  said  justly  that  she  ought  to  keep 
Mr.  Goldsmith's  money  as  well  as  the  young  gentle- 
men's. When  he  met  his  pupils  in  later  life,  nothing 
would  satisfy  the  Doctor  but  he  must  treat  them  still. 
"  Have  you  seen  the  print  of  me  after  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds?" he  asked  of  one  of  his  old  pupils.  "Not  seen 
it!  not  bought  it!  Sure,  Jack,  if  your  picture  had  been 
published,  I'd  not  have  been  without  it  half-an-hour." 
His  purse  and  his  heart  were  everybody's,  and  his  friends' 
as  much  as  his  own.  When  he  was  at  the  height  of  his 
reputation,  and  the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  going  as 
Lord  Lieutenant  to  Ireland,  asked  if  he  could  be  of  any 
service  to  Doctor  Goldsmith,  Goldsmith  recommended 
his  brother  and  not  himself  to  the  great  man.  "  My 
patrons,"  he  gallantly  said,  "  are  the  booksellers,  and  I 
want  no  others."  Hard  patrons  they  were,  and  hard 
work  he  did ;  but  he  did  not  complain  much.  If  in  his 


206  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

early  writings  some  bitter  words  escaped  him,  some  allul 
sions  to  neglect  and  poverty,  he  withdrew  these  expres- 
sions when  his  Works  were  republished,  and  better  days 
seemed  to  open  for  him;  and  he  did  not  care  to  com- 
plain that  printer  or  publisher  had  overlooked  his  merii 
or  left  him  poor.  The  Court  face  was  turned  from  hon-: 
est  Oliver;  the  Court  patronized  Bea£tie.  The  fashion 
did  not  shine  on  him ;  fashion  adored  Sterne ;  fashion! 
pronounced  Kelly  to  be  the  great  writer  of  comedy  of  hi! 

>  day.  A  little  —  not  ill-humor,  but  plaintiveness  —  a  lit-] 
tie  betrayal  of  wounded  pride  which  he  showed  render! 
him  not  the  less  amiable.  The  author  of  the  "  Vica.il 
of  Wakefield  "  had  a  right  to  protest  when  Newberyj 
keptrJaCk  the  manuscript  for  two  years ;  had  a  right  to! 

•>  be  a  little  peevish  with  Sterne,  —  a  little  angry  whenj 
Colman's  actors  declined  their  parts  in  his  delightful  com-] 
edy,  when  the  manager  refused  to  have  a  scene  painted! 
for  it  and  pronounced  its  damnation  before  hearing.  Hej 
had  not  the  great  public  with  him;  but  he  had  the  nobles 

•  JohnsDn  and  the  admirable  Reynolds  and  the  great  Gib4 
bon  and  the  great  Burke  and  the  great  Eox^ —  friends 
and  admirers  illustrious  indeed,  as  'famous  as  those  who,, 
fifty  years  before,  sat  round  Pope's  table. 

Nobody  knows,  and  I  dare  say  Goldsmith's  buoyanfl 
temper  kept  no  account  of,  all  the  pains  which  he  endured: 
during  the  early  period  of  his  literary  career.  Should 
any  man  of  letters  in  our  day  have  to  bear  up  against 
such,  Heaven  grant  he  may  come  out  of  the  period  of 
misfortune  with  such  a  pure,  kind  heart  as  that  which 
Goldsmith  obstinately  bore  in  his  breast!  The  insults; 
to  which  he  had  to  submit  are  shocking  to  read  of,  —  slan- 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH  207 

der,  contumely,  vulgar  satire,  brutal  malignity,  perverting 
his  commonest  motives  and  actions.  He  had  his  share 
of  these;  and  one's  anger  is  roused  at  reading  of  them, 
as  it  is  at  seeing  a  woman  insulted  or  a  child  assaulted, 
at  the  notion  that  a  creature  so  very  gentle  and  weak, 
and  full  of  love,  should  have  had  to  suffer  so.  And  he 
had  worse  than  insult  to  undergo,  —  to  own  to  fault,  and 
deprecate  the  anger  of  ruffians.  There  is  a  letter  of  his 
extant  to  one  Griffiths,  a  bookseller,  in  which  poor  Gold- 
smith is  forced  to  confess  that  certain  books  sent  by  Grif- 
fiths are  in  the  hands  of  a  friend  from  whom  Goldsmith 
had  been  forced  to  borrow  money.  "  He  was  wild,  sir," 
Johnson  said,  speaking  of  Goldsmith  to  Boswell,  with 
his  great,  wise  benevolence  and  noble  mercifulness  of 
heart,  —  "  Dr.  Goldsmith  was  wild,  sir ;  but  he  is  so  no 
more."  Ah!  if  we  pity  the  good  and  weak  man  who 
suffers  undeservedly,  let  us  deal  very  gently  with  him  from 
whom  misery  extorts  not  only  tears  but  shame;  let  us 
think  humbly  and  charitably  of  the  human  nature  that 
suffers  so  sadly  and  falls  so  low.  Whose  turn  may  it  be 
to-morrow?  What  weak  heart,  confident  before  trial, 
may  not  succumb  under  temptation  invincible  ?  Cover  the 
good  man  who  has  been  vanquished,  —  cover  his  face  and 
pass  on. 

For  the  last  half-dozen  years  of  his  life  Goldsmith  was 
far  removed  from  the  pressure  of  any  ignoble  necessity, 
and  in  the  receipt,  indeed,  of  a  pretty  large  income  from 
the  booksellers,  his  patrons.  Had  he  lived  but  a  few 
years  more,  his  public  fame  would  have  been  as  great  as 
his  private  reputation,  and  he  might  have  enjoyed  alive 
a  part  of  that  esteem  which  his  country  has  ever  since 


208  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

paid  to  the  vivid  and  versatile  genius  who  has  touched 
on  almost  every  subject  of  literature,  and  touched  noth- 
ing that  he  did  not  adorn.     Except  in  rare  instances,  a 
man  is  known  in  our  profession  and  esteemed  as  a  skilful 
workman  years  before  the  lucky  hit  which  trebles  his  usual 
gains,  and  stamps  him  a  popular  author.     In  the  strength 
of  his  age  and  the  dawn   of  his  reputation,   having  for! 
backers  and  friends  the  most  illustrious  literary  men  of  his  I 
time,  fame  and  prosperity  might  have  been  in  store  for j 
Goldsmith  had  fate  so  willed,  and  at  forty-six  had  not 
sudden  disease  carried  him  off.     I  say  prosperity  rather 
than  competence;   for  it  is  probable  that  no  sum  could 
have  put  order  into  his  affairs,  or  sufficed   for  his  irre- 
claimable habits  of  dissipation.     It  must  be  remembered 
that  he  owed  £2,000  when  he  died.     "  Was  ever  poet," 
Johnson  asked,  "  so  trusted  before?"     As  has  been  the! 
case  with  many  another   good   fellow  of  his  nation,   his 
life  was  tracked  and  his  substance  wasted  by  crowds  of  j 
hungry  beggars  and  lazy  dependents.     If  they  came  at  a 
lucky  time  (and  be  sure  they  knew  his  affairs  better  than 
he  did  himself,  and  watched  his  pay-day),  he  gave  them 
of  his   money;   if   they   begged   on   empty-purse   days,   he 

Vgave  them  his  promissory  bills,  or  he  treated  them  to  a 
tavern  where  he  had  credit,  or  he  obliged  them  with  an 
order  upon  honest  Mr.  Filby  for  coats,  —  for  which  he 
paid  as  long  as  he  could  earn,  and  until  the  shears  of  I 
Filby  were  to  cut  for  him  no  more.  Staggering  under  a 
load  of  debt  and  labor ;  tracked  by  bailiffs  and  reproachful 
creditors ;  running  from  a  hundred  poor  dependents,  whose 
appealing  looks  were  perhaps  the  hardest  of  all  pains  for 
him  to  bear;  devising  fevered  plans  for  the  morrow,  new 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH  209 

histories,  new  comedies,  all  sorts  of  new  literary  schemes; 
flying  from  all  these  into  seclusion,  and  out  of  seclusion 
into  pleasure,  —  at  last,  at  five-and-forty,  death  seized 
him  and  closed  his  career.  I  have  been  many  a  time  in 
the  chambers  in  the  Temple  which  were  his,  and  passed 
up  the  staircase  which  Johnson  and  Burke  and  Reynolds 
trod  to  see  their  friend,  their  poet,  their  kind  Gold- 
smith, —  the  stair  on  which  the  poor  women  sat  weeping 
bitterly  when  they  heard  that  greatest  and  most  generous 
of  all  men  was  dead  within  the  black-oak  door.  Ah!  it 
was  a  different  lot  from  that  for  which  the  poor  fellow 
sighed,  when  he  wrote  with  heart  yearning  for  home  those 
most  charming  of  all  fond  verses,  in  which  he  fancies  he 
revisits  Auburn :  — 

"  Here,  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds 
Amidst  thy  tangling  walks  and  ruined  grounds, 
And,  many  a  year  elapsed,  return  to  view 
Where  once  the  cottage  stood,  the  hawthorn  grew, 
Remembrance  wakes,  with  all  her  busy  train, 
Swells  at  my  breast,  and  turns  the  past  to  pain. 
In  all  my  wanderings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  my  griefs,  —  and  God  has  given  my  share,  — 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  latest  hours  to  crown, 
Amidst  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  me  down ; 
To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close, 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose : 
I  still  had  hopes  —  for  pride  attends  us  still  — 
Amidst  the  swains  to  show  my  book-learned  skill, 
Around  my  fire  an  evening  group  to  draw, 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt  and  all  I  saw; 
And,  as  a  hare,  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue, 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  she  flew,  — 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past, 
Here  to  return,  and  die  at  home  at  last. 


210  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

O  blest  retirement,  friend  to  life's  decline! 
Retreats  from  care  that  never  must  be  mine ! 
How  blest  is  he  who  crowns,  in  shades  like  these, 
A  youth  of  labor  with  an  age  of  ease; 
Who  quits  a  world  where  strong  temptations  try, 
And,  since  't  is  hard  to  combat,  learns  to  fly ! 
For  him  no  wretches,  born  to  work  and  weep, 
Explore  the  mine  or  tempt  the  dangerous  deep ; 
No  surly  porter  stands  in  guilty  state 
To  spurn  imploring  famine  from  the  gate; 
But  on  he  moves  to  meet  his  latter  end, 
Angels  around  befriending  virtue's  friend ; 
Sinks  to  the  grave  with  unperceived  decay, 
Whilst  resignation  gently  slopes  the  way; 
And  all  his  prospects  brightening  to  the  last, 
His  heaven  commences  ere  the  world  be  past." 

In  these  verses,  I  need  not  say  with  what  melody,  with 
what  touching  truth,  with  what  exquisite  beauty  of  com-/ 
parison,  as  indeed  in  hundreds  more  pages  of  the  writings 
of  this  honest  soul,  the  whole  character  of  the  man  is 
told,  —  his  humble  confession  of  faults  and  weakness ;  his 
pleasant  little  vanity,  and  desire  that  his  village  should 
admire  him;  his  simple  scheme  of  good  in  which  every-  ' 
body  was  to  be  happy,  —  no  beggar  was  to  be  refused  his 
dinner,  nobody  in  fact  was  to  work  much,  —  and  he  to 
be  the  harmless  chief  of  the  Utopia,  and  the  monarch  of 
the  Irish  Yvetot.  He  would  have  told  again,  and  with- 
out fear  of  their  failing,  those  famous  jokes  which  had 
hung  fire  in  London ;  he  would  have  talked  of  his  great 
friends  of  the  Club,  —  of  my  Lord  Clare,  my  Lord 
Bishop,  and  my  Lord  Nugent;  sure,  he  knew  them  inti- 
mately, and  was  hand-and-glove  with  some  of  the  best 
men  in  town,  —  and  he  would  have  spoken  of  Johnson 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH  211 

and  of  Burke,  from  Cork,  and  of  Sir  Joshua  who  had 
painted  him ;  and  he  would  have  told  wonderful  sly  stories 
of  Ranelagh  and  the  Pantheon,  and  the  masquerades  at 
Madame  Cornelys's;  and  he  would  have  toasted,  with  a 
sigh,  the  Jessamy  Bride,  —  the  lovely  Mary  Horneck. 

The  figure  of  that  charming  young  lady  forms  one  of 
the  prettiest  recollections  of  Goldsmith's  life.  She  and 
her  beautiful  sister,  —  who  married  Bunbury,  the  grace- 
ful and  humorous  amateur  artist  of  those  days,  when 
Gilray  had  but  just  begun  to  try  his  powers  —  w^ere 
among  the  kindest  and  dearest  of  Goldsmith's  many 
friends,  cheered  and  pitied  him,  travelled  abroad  with  him, 
made  him  welcome  at  their  home,  and  gave  him  many  a 
pleasant  holiday.  He  bought  his  finest  clothes  to  figure 
at  their  country-house  at  Barton ;  he  wrote  them  droll 
verses.  They  loved  him,  laughed  at  him,  played  him 
tricks,  and  made  him  happy.  He  asked  for  a  loan  from 
Garrick,  and  Garrick  kindly  supplied  him,  to  enable  him 
to  go  to  Barton.  But  there  were  to  be  no  more  holidays, 
and  only  one  brief  struggle  more,  for  poor  Goldsmith.  A 
lock  of  his  hair  was  taken  from  the  coffin  and  given  to 
the  Jessamy  Bride.  She  lived  quite  into  our  time.  Hazliit— 
saw  her,  an  old  lady  but  beautiful  still,  in  Northcote's 
painting-room,  wrho  told  the  eager  critic  how  proud  she 
always  was  that  Goldsmith  had  admired  her.  The  younger 
Colman  has  left  a  touching  reminiscence  of  him  (vol.  i. 
63,  64)  :— 

"  I  was  only  five  years  old,"  he  says,  "  when  Goldsmith  took 
me  on  his  knee  one  evening  whilst  he  was  drinking  coffee  with  my 
father,  and  began  to  play  with  me,  —  which  amiable  act  I 
returned,  with  the  ingratitude  of  a  peevish  brat,  by  giving  him  a 


212  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

very  smart  slap  on  the  face:  it  must  have  been  a  tingler,  for  it 
left  the  marks  of  my  spiteful  paw  on  his  cheek.  This  infantile 
outrage  was  followed  by  summary  justice,  and  I  was  locked  up  by 
my  indignant  father  in  an  adjoining  room  to  undergo  solitary 
imprisonment  in  the  dark.  Here  I  began  to  howl  and  scream  most 
abominably,  which  was  no  bad  step  towards  my  liberation,  since 
those  who  were  not  inclined  to  pity  me  might  be  likely  to  set  me 
free  for  the  purpose  of  abating  a  nuisance. 

"  At  length  a  generous  friend  appeared  to  extricate  me  from 
jeopardy;  and  that  generous  friend  was  no  other  than  the  man  I 
had  so  wantonly  molested  by  assault  and  battery.  It  was  the 
tender-hearted  Doctor  himself,  with  a  lighted  candle  in  his  hand 
and  a  smile  upon  his  countenance,  which  was  still  partially  red 
from  the  effects  of  my  petulance.  I  sulked  and  sobbed  as  he 
fondled  and  soothed,  till  I  began  to  brighten.  Goldsmith  seized 
the  propitious  moment  of  returning  good-humor,  when  he  put 
down  the  candle  and  began  to  conjure.  He  placed  three  hats, 
which  happened  to  be  in  the  room,  and  a  shilling  under  each: 
the  shillings,  he  told  me,  were  England,  France,  and  Spain.  '  Hey, 
presto  cockalorum !  '  cried  the  Doctor ;  and  lo,  on  uncovering  the 
shillings,  wrhich  had  been  dispersed  each  beneath  a  separate  hat, 
they  were  all  found  congregated  under  one !  I  was  no  politician 
at  five  years  old,  and  therefore  might  not  have  wondered  at  the 
sudden  revolution  which  brought  England,  France,  and  Spain  all 
under  one  crown;  but  as  also  I  was  no  conjuror,  it  amazed  me 
beyond  measure.  .  .  .  From  that  time,  whenever  the  Doctor 
came  to  visit  my  father,  '  I  plucked  his  gown  to  share  the  good 
man's  smile;'  a  game  at  romps  constantly  ensued,  and  we  were 
always  cordial  friends  and  merry  playfellows.  Our  unequal  com- 
panionship varied  somewhat  as  to  sports  as  I  grew  older;  but  it 
did  not  last  long:  my  senior  playmate  died  in  his  forty-fifth  year, 
when  I  had  attained  my  eleventh.  ...  In  all  the  numerous 
accounts  of  his  virtues  and  foibles,  his  genius  and  absurdities,  his 
knowledge  of  nature  and  ignorance  of  the  world,  his  '  compassion 
for  another's  woe '  was  always  predominant ;  and  my  trivial  story 
of  his  humoring  a  froward  child  weighs  but  as  a  feather  in  the 
recorded  scale  of  his  benevolence." 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH 


Think  of  him  reckless,  thriftless,  vain,  if  you  like,, —  but 
merciful,  gentle,  generous,  full  of  love  and  pity.  He 
passes  out  of  our  life,  and  goes  to  render  his  account 
beyond  it.  Think  of  the  poor  pensioners  weeping  at  his 
grave;  think  of  the  noble  spirits  that  admired  and  deplored 
him;  think  of  the  righteous  pen  that  wrote  his  epitaph, 
and  of  the  wonderful  and  unanimous  response  of  affec- 
tion with  which  the  world  has  paid  back  "the  love  he  gave 
it.  His  humor  delighting  us  still,  his  song  fresh  and  beau- 
tiful  as  when  first  he  charmed  with  it,  his  words  in  all  I 
our  mouths,  his  very  weaknesses  beloved  and  familiar,  — / 
his  benevolent  spirit  seems  still  to  smile  upon  us,  to  do 
gentle  kindnesses,  to  succor  with  sweet  charity ;  to  soothe, 
caress,  and  forgive;  to  plead  with  the  fortunate  for  the 
unhappy  and  the  poor. 

His  name  is  the  last  in  the  list  of  those  men  of  humor 
who  have  formed  the  themes  of  the  discourses  which  you 
have  heard  so  kindly. 

Long  before  I  had  ever  hoped  for  such  an  audience, 
or  dreamed  of  the  possibility  of  the  good  fortune  which 
has  brought  me  so  many  friends,  I  was  at  issue  with  some 
of  my  literary  brethren  upon  a  point  which  they  held  from 
tradition,  I  think,  rather  than  experience,  —  that  our  pro- 
fession was  neglected  in  this  country,  and  that  men  of 
letters  \vere  ill  received  and  held  in  slight  esteem.  It 
would  hardly  be  grateful  of  me  now  to  alter  my  old 
opinion  that  we  do  meet  with  good-will  and  kindness, 
with  generous  helping  hands  in  the  time  of  our  necessity, 
with  cordial  and  friendly  recognition.  What  claim  had 
any  one  of  these  of  whom  I  have  been  speaking,  but 


214  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

genius?  What  return  of  gratitude,  fame,  affection,  did 
it  not  bring  to  all?  What  punishment  befell  those  who 
were  unfortunate  among  them,  but  that  which  follows 
reckless  habits  and  careless  lives?  For  these  faults  a  wit 
must  suffer  like  the  dullest  prodigal  that  ever  ran  in  debt. 
He  must  pay  the  tailor  if  he  wears  the  coat;  his  children 
must  go  in  rags  if  he  spends  his  money  at  the  tavern;  he 
cannot  come  to  London  and  be  made  Lord  Chancellor  if 
he  stops  on  the  road  and  gambles  away  his  last  shilling 
at  Dublin.  And  he  must  pay  the  social  penalty  of  these 
follies  too,  and  expect  that  the  world  will  shun  the  man 
of  bad  habits,  that  women  will  avoid  the  man  of  loose 
life,  that  prudent  folks  will  close  their  doors  as  a  pre- 
caution, and  before  a  demand  should  be  made  on  their 
pockets  by  the  needy  prodigal.  With  what  difficulty  had 
any  one  of  these  men  to  contend,  save  that  eternal  and 
mechanical  one  of  want  of  means  and  lack  of  capital,  and 
of  which  thousands  of  young  lawyers,  young  doctors,  young 
soldiers  and  sailors,  of  inventors,  manufacturers,  shopkeep- 
ers, have  to  complain  ?  Hearts  as  brave  and  resolute  as  ever 
beat  in  the  breast  of  any  wit  or  poet  sicken  and  break 
daily  in  the  vain  endeavor  and  unavailing  struggle  against 
life's  difficulty.  Do  not  we  see  daily  ruined  inventors, 
gray-haired  midshipmen,  balked  heroes,  blighted  curates, 
barristers  pining  a  hungry  life  out  in  chambers,  the  attor- 
neys never  mounting  to  their  garrets,  whilst  scores  of  them 
are  rapping  at  the  door  of  the  successful  quack  below? 
If  these  suffer,  who  is  the  author  that  he  should  be  exempt? 
Let  us  bear  our  ills  with  the  same  constancy  with  which 
others  endure  them,  accept  our  manly  part  in  life,  hold 
our  own,  and  ask  no  more.  I  can  conceive  of  no  kings 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH  215 

or  laws  causing  or  curing  Goldsmith's  improvidence,  or 
Fielding's  fatal  love  of  pleasure,  or  Dick  Steele's  mania 
for  running  races  with  the  constable.  You  never  can  outrun 
that  sure-footed  officer,  not  by  any  swiftness  or  by  dodges 
devised  by  any  genius,  however  great ;  and  he  carries  off  the 
Tatler  to  the  sponging-house,  or  taps  the  Citizen  of  the 
World  on  the  shoulder,  as  he  would  any  other  mortal. 

Does  -society  look  down  on  a  man  because  he  is  an 
author?  I  suppose  if  people  want  a  buffoon  they  tolerate 
him  only  in  so  far  as  he  is  amusing;  it  can  hardly  be 
expected  that  they  should  respect  him  as  an  equal.  Is 
there  to  be  a  guard  of  honor  provided  for  the  author  of 
the  last  new  novel  or  poem?  How  long  is  he  to  reign, 
and  keep  other  potentates  out  of  possession?  He  retires, 
grumbles,  and  prints  a  lamentation  that  literature  is 
despised.  If  Captain  A.  is  left  out  of  Lady  B.'s  parties,  he 
does  not  state  that  the  army  is  despised.  If  Lord  C.  no 
longer  asks  Counsellor  D.  to  dinner,  Counsellor  D.  does  not 
announce  that  the  bar  is  insulted.  He  is  not  fair  to  society 
if  he  enters  it  with  this  suspicion  hankering  about  him.  If 
he  is  doubtful  about  his  reception,  how  hold  up  his  head 
honestly,  and  look  frankly  in  the  face  that  world  about 
which  he  is  full  of  suspicion?  Is  he  place-hunting,  and 
thinking  in  his  mind  that  he  ought  to  be  made  an  Ambassa- 
dor like  Prior,  or  a  Secretary  of  State  like  Addison,  —  his 
pretence  of  equality  falls  to  the  ground  at  once ;  he  is  schem- 
ing for  a  patron,  not  shaking  the  hand  of  a  friend,  when 
he  meets  the  world.  Treat  such  a  man  as  he  deserves; 
laugh  at  his  buffoonery,  and  give  him  a  dinner  and  a  bon 
jour;  laugh  at  his  self-sufficiency  and  absurd  assumptions 
of  superiority  and  his  equally  ludicrous  airs  of  martyr- 


216  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

dom;  laugh  at  his  flattery  and  his  scheming,  and  buy  it, 
if  it's  worth  the  having.  Let  the  wag  have  his  dinner  and 
the  hireling  his  pay,  if  you  want  him,  and  make  a  pro- 
found bow  to  the  grand  homine  incompris  and  the  boister- 
ous martyr,  and  show  him  the  door.  The  great  world,  the 
great  aggregate  experience,  has  its  good  sense  as  it  has  its 
good  humor.  It  detects  a  pretender,  as  it  trusts  a  loyal 
heart.  It  is  kind  in  the  main:  how  should  it  be  other- 
wise than  kind,  when  it  is  so  wise  and  clear-headed?  To 
any  literary  man  who  says,  "  It  despises  my  profession," 
I  say,  with  all  my  might,  No,  no,  no !  It  may  pass  over 
your  individual  case,  —  how  many  a  brave  fellow  has 
failed  in  the  race  and  perished  unknown  in  the  struggle! 
—  but  it  treats  you  as  you  merit  in  the  main.  If  you  serve 
»it,  it  is  not  unthankful;  if  you  please  it,  it  is  pleased;  if 
you  cringe  to  it,  it  detects  you,  and  scorns  you  if  you  are 
mean ;  it  returns  your  cheerfulness  with  its  good  humor, 
it  deals  not  ungenerously  with  your  weaknesses,  it  recog- 
nizes most  kindly  your  merits,  it  gives  you  a  fair  place 
and  fair  play.  To  any  one  of  those  men  of  whom  we 
have  spoken  was  it  in  the  main  ungrateful  ?  A  king  might 
refuse  Goldsmith  a  pension,  as  a  publisher  might  keep  his 
masterpiece  and  the  delight  of  all  the  world  in  his  desk 
for  two  years ;  but  it  was  mistake,  and  not  ill-will.  Noble 
and  illustrious  names  of  Swift  and  Pope  and  Addison; 
dear  and  honored  memories  of  Goldsmith  and  Fielding! 
kind  friends,  teachers,  benefactors !  who  shall  say  that  our 
country,  which  continues  to  bring  you  such  an  unceasing 
tribute  of  applause,  admiration,  love,  sympathy,  does  not 
do  honor  to  the  literary  calling  in  the  honor  which  it 
bestows  upon  you? 


LECTURE   THE    SEVENTH 

CHARITY  AND   HUMOR 

Several  charitable  ladies  of  this  city,  to  some  of  whom 
I  am  under  great  personal  obligation,  having  thought  that 
a  lecture  of  mine  would  advance  a  benevolent  end  which 
they  had  in  view,  I  have  preferred,  in  place  of  delivering 
a  discourse,  which  many  of  my  hearers  no  doubt  know 
already,  upon  a  subject  merely  literary  or  biographical, 
to  put  together  a  few  thoughts  which  may  serve  as  a  sup- 
plement to  the  former  lectures,  if  you  like,  and  which 
have  this  at  least  in  common  with  the  kind  purpose  which 
assembles  you  here,  that  they  rise  out  of  the  same  occa- 
sion, and  treat  of  charity. 

Besides  contributing  to  our  stock  of  happiness,  to  our 
harmless  laughter  and  amusement,  to  our  scorn  for  false- 
hood and  pretension,  to  our  righteous  hatred  of  hypocrisy, 
to  our  education  in  the  perception  of  truth,  our  love  of 
\honesty,  our  knowledge  of  life,  and  shrewd  guidance 
jihrough  the  world,  have  not  our  humorous  writers,  our 
gay  and  kind  week-day  preachers,  done  much  in  support 
<pf  that  holy  cause  which  has  assembled  you  in  this  place, 
and  which  you  are  all  abetting,  —  the  cause  of  love  and 
charity ;  the  cause  of  the  poor,  the  weak,  and  the  unhappy ; 
the  sweet  mission  of  love  and  tenderness,  and  peace  and 
good-will  towards  men  ?  That  same  theme  which  is  urged 
upon  you  by  the  eloquence  and  example  of  good  men  to 
whom  you  are  delighted  listeners  on  Sabbath-days,  is 


217 


218  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

taught  in  his  way  and  according  to  his  power  by  thef 
humorous  writer,  the  commentator  on  every-day  life  and 
manners. 

And  as  you  are  here  assembled  for  a  charitable  purpose, 

5  giving  your  contributions  at  the  door  to  benefit  deserving 
people  who  need  them  without,  I  like  to  hope  and  think 
that  the  men  of  our  calling  have  done  something  in  aid  of 
the  cause  of  charity,  and  have  helped,  with  kind  words 
and  kind  thoughts  at  least,  to  confer  happiness  and  to  do 

10  good.  If  the  humorous  writers  claim  to  be  week-day 
preachers,  have  they  conferred  any  benefit  by  their  ser- 
mons? Are  people  happier,  better,  better  disposed  to  their 
neighbors,  more  inclined  to  do  works  of  kindness,  to  love, 
forbear,  forgive,  pity,  after  reading  in  Addison,  in  Steele, 

i.A  in  Fielding,  in  Goldsmith,  in  Hood,  in  Dickens?     I  hope 

v  and  believe  so,  and   fancy  that  in  writing  they  are  also 

acting   charitably,    contributing,    with    the    means    which 

Heaven  supplies  them,  to  forward  the  end  which  brings 

you  too  together. 

20  A  love  of  the  human  species  is  a  very  vague  and  indefi- 
nite kind  of  virtue,  sitting  very  easily  on  a  man,  not  con- 
fining his  actions  at  all,  shining  in  print,  or  exploding  in 
paragraphs,  after  which  efforts  of  benevolence,  the  philan- 
thropist is  sometimes  said  to  go  home,  and  be  no  better 

?z  than  his  neighbors.  Tartuffe  and  Joseph  Surface,  Stig- 
gins  and  Chadband,  who  are  alwrays  preaching  fine  senti- 
ments, and  are  no  more  virtuous  than  hundreds  of  those 
whom  they  denounce  and  whom  they  cheat,  are  fair  objects 
of  mistrust  and  satire;  but  their  hypocrisy,  the  homage, 

™  according  to  the  old  saying,  which  vice  pays  to  virtue, 
has  this  of  good  in  it,  that  its  fruits  are  good.  A  man 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOR  219 

tnay  preach  good  morals,  though  he  may  be  himself  but  a 
lax  practitioner;  a  Pharisee  may  put  pieces  of  gold  into 
the  charity-plate  out  of  mere  hypocrisy  and  ostentation, 
but  the  bad  man's  gold  feeds  'the  widow  and  the  father- 
less as  well  as  the  good  man's.  The  butcher  and  baker 
must  needs  look,  not  to  motives,  but  to  money,  in  return 
for  their  wares. 

I  am  not  going  to  hint  that  we  of  the  literary  calling 
resemble  Monsieur  Tartufre  or  Monsieur  Stiggins,  though 
there  may  be  such  men  in  our  body,  as  there  are  in  all. 

A  literary  man  of  the  humoristic  turn  is  pretty  sure  to 
be  of  a  philanthropic  nature,  to  have  a  great  sensibility, 
to  be  easily  moved  to  pain,  or  pleasure,  keenly  to  appre- 
ciate the  varieties  of  temper  of  people  round  about  him, 
and  sympathize  in  their  laughter,  love,  amusement,  tears. 
Such  a  man  is  philanthropic,  man-loving  by  nature,  as 
another  is  irascible,  or  red-haired,  or  six  feet  high.  And 
so  I  would  arrogate  no  particular  merit  to  literary  men  for 
the  possession  of  this  faculty  of  doing  good  which  some 
of  them  enjoy.  It  costs  a  gentleman  no  sacrifice  to  be 
benevolent  on  paper ;  and  the  luxury  of  indulging  in  the 
most  beautiful  and  brilliant  sentiments  never  makes  any 
man  a  penny  the  poorer.  A  literary  man  is  no  better  than 
another,  as  far  as  my  experience  goes;  and  a  man  writing 
a  book,  no  better  nor  no  worse  than  one  who  keeps 
accounts  in  a  ledger,  or  follows  any  other  occupation.  Let 
us,  however,  give  him  credit  for  the  good,  at  least,  which 
he  is  the  means  of  doing,  as  we  give  credit  to  a  man  with  a 
million  for  the  hundred  which  he  puts  into  the  plate  at  a 
charity-sermon.  He  never  misses  them.  He  has  made 
them  in  a  moment  by  a  lucky  speculation,  and  parts  with 


220  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

them,  knowing  that  he  has  an  almost  endless  balance  at  his 
bank,  whence  he  can  call  for  more.  But  in  esteeming  the 
benefaction,  we  are  grateful  to  the  benefactor,  too,  some- 
what; and  so  of  men  of  genius,  richly  endowed,  and  lavish 
5  in  parting  with  their  mind's  wealth,  we  may  view  them  at 
least  kindly  and  favorably,  and  be  thankful  for  the  bounty 
of  which  Providence  has  made  them  the  dispensers. 

I  have  said  myself  somewhere,  I  do  not  know  with  what 
correctness    (for    definitions    never    are    complete),    that 
i/  humor  is  wit  and  love ;  I  am  sure,  at  any  rate,  that  the  best 
j   humor  is  that  which  contains  most  humanity,  that  which 
'     is  flavored  throughout  writh  tenderness  and  kindness.     This 
love  does  not  demand  constant  utterance  or  actual  expres- 
sion, as  a  good  father,  in  conversation  with  his  children  or 
w    wife,  is  not  perpetually  embracing  them,  or  making  pro- 
testations of  his  love ;  as  a  lover  in  the  society  of  his  mistress 
is  not,  at  least  as  far  as  I  am  led  to  believe,  forever  squeez- 
ing her  hand,  or  sighing  in  her  ear,  "My  soul's  darling,  I 
adore  you !  "     He  shows  his  love  by  his  conduct,  by  his 
20    fidelity,  by  his  watchful  desire  to  make  the  beloved  person 
happy;  it  lightens  from  his  eyes  when  she  appears,  though 
he  may  not  speak  it;  it  fills  his  heart  when  she  is  present 
or  absent;  influences  all  his  wrords  and  actions;  suffuses  his 
whole  being;  it  sets  the  father  cheerily  to  work  through 
25    the  long  day,  supports  him  through  the  tedious  labor  of 
the  weary  absence  or  journey,  and  sends  him  happy  home 
again,  yearning  towards  the  wife  and  children.     This  kind 
of  love  is  not  a  spasm,  but  a  life.     It  fondles  and  caresses 
at  due  seasons,  no  doubt ;  but  the  fond  heart  is  always  beat- 
so    ing  fondly  and  truly,  though  the  wife  is  not  sitting  hand- 
in-hand  with  him,  or  the  children  hugging  at  his  knee. 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOR  221 

so  with  a  loving  humor:  I  think,  it  is  a  genial 
writer's  habit  of  being;  it  is  the  kind,  gentle  spirit's  way 
of  looking  out  on  the  world  —  that  sweet  friendliness 
which  fills  his  heart  and  his  style.  You  recognize  it, 
even  though  there  may  not  be  a  single  point  of  wit,  or 
a  single  pathetic  touch  in  the  page;  though  you  may  not 
be  called  upon  to  salute  his  genius  by  a  laugh  or  a  tear. 
That  collision  of  ideas,  which  provokes  the  one  or  the 
other,  must  be  occasional.  They  must  be  like  papa's 
embraces,  which  I  spoke  of  anon,  who  only  delivers  them 
now  and  again,  and  cannot  be  expected  to  go  on  kissing 
the  children  all  night.  And  so  the  writer's  jokes  and 
sentiment,  his  ebullitions  of  feelings,  his  outbreaks  of  high 
spirits,  must  not  be  too  frequent.  One  tires  of  a  page  of 
which  every  sentence  sparkles  with  points,  of  a  sentimen-  [ 
talist  who  is  always  pumping  the  tears  from  his  eyes  or 
your  own.  One  suspects  the  genuineness  of  the  tear,  the 
naturalness  of  the  humor;  these  ought  to  be  true  and 
|nanly  in  a  man,  as  everything  else  in  his  life  should  be 
^nanly  and  true ;  and  he  loses  his  dignity  by  laughing  or 
weeping  out  of  place,  or  too  often. 

When  the  Reverend  Lawrence  Sterne  begins  to  senti- 
mentalize over  the  carriage  in  Monsieur  Dessein's  court- 
yard, and  pretends  to  squeeze  a  tear  out  of  a  rickety 
bid  shandrydan ;  when,  presently,  he  encounters  the  dead 
idonkey  on  his  road  to  Paris,  and  snivels  over  that  asinine 
^corpse,  I  say:  "  Away  you  drivelling  quack:  do  not  palm 
[off  these  grimaces  of  grief  upon  simple  folks  who  know 
!.no  better,  and  cry  misled  by  your  hypocrisy."  Tears  are 
sacred.  The  tributes  of  kind  hearts  to  misfortune,  the 
biites  which  gentle  souls  drop  into  the  collections  made 


222  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

for  God's  poor  and  unhappy,  are  not  to  be  tricked  oul 
of  them  by  a  whimpering  hypocrite,  handing  round  i 
begging-box  for  your  compassion,  and  asking  your  pitj 
for  a  lie.  When  that  same  man  tells  me  of  Le  Fevre'i 
illness  and  Uncle  Toby's  charity;  of  the  noble  at  Rennes 
coming  home  and  reclaiming  his  sword,  I  thank  him  foi 
the  generous  emotion  which,  springing  genuinely  froir 
his  own  heart,  has  caused  mine  to  admire  benevolence 
and  sympathize  with  honor;  and  to  feel  love,  and  kind- 
ness, and  pity. 

If  I  do  not  love  Swift,  as,  thank  God,  I  do  not,  how- 
ever immensely  I  may  admire  him,  it  is  because  I  revolt 
from  the  man  who  placards  himself  as  a  professional  hatei 
of  his  own  kind ;  because  he  chisels  his  savage  indignai 
tion  on  his  tomb-stone,  as  if  to  perpetuate  his  protesi 
against  being  born  of  our  race  —  the  suffering,  the  weak 
the  erring,  the  wicked,  if  you  will,  but  still  the  friendly 
the  loving  children  of  God  our  Father :  it  is  because,  a 
I  read  through  Swift's  dark  volumes,  I  never  find  the 
aspect  of  nature  seems  to  delight  him;  the  smiles  of  chil- 
dren to  please  him;  the  sight  of  wedded  love  to  soothe 
him.  I  do  not  remember  in  any  line  of  his  writing  \ 
passing  allusion  to  a  natural  scene  of  beauty.  When  he 
speaks  about  the  families  of  his  comrades  and  brothe] 
clergymen,  it  is  to  assail  them  with  gibes  and  scorn,  anc 
to  laugh  at  them  brutally  for  being  fatHers  ancTfor  bein£ 
poor.  He  does  mention  in  the  Journal  to  Stella,  a  sicl 
child,  to  be  sure  —  a  child  of  Lady  Masham,  that  was  il 
of  the  small-pox  —  but  then  it  is  to  confound  the  bra 
for  being  ill,  and  the  mother  for  attending  to  it,  wher 
she  should  have  been  busy  about  a  court  intrigue,  ir 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOR  223 

which  the  Dean  was  deeply  engaged.  And  he  alludes  to 
suitor  of  Stella's,  and  a  match  she  might  have  made, 
and  would  have  made,  very  likely,  with  an  honorable 
and  faithful  and  attached  man,  Tisdall,  who  loved  her, 
and  of  whom  Swift  speaks,  in  a  letter  to  this  lady,  in 
language  so  foul  that  you  would  not  bear  to  hear  it.  In 
treating  of  the  good  the  humorists  have  done,  of  the  love 
and  kindness  they  have  taught  and  left  behind  them,  it 
t  not  of  this  one  I  dare  speak.  Heaven  help  the  lonely 
misanthrope!  be  kind  to  that  multitude  of  sins,  with  so 
[ittle  charity  to  cover  them ! 

Of  Mr.  Congreve's  contributions  to  the  English  stock 
of  benevolence,  I  do  not  speak;  for,  of  any  moral  legacy 
to  posterity,  I  doubt  whether  that  brilliant  man  ever 
thought  at  all.  He  had  some  money,  as  I  have  told; 
every  shilling  of  which  he  left  to  his  friend  the  Duchess 
of  Marlborough,  a  lady  of  great  fortune  and  the  highest 
fashion.  He  gave  the  gold  of  his  brains  to  persons  of 
fortune  and  fashion,  too.  There  is  no  more  feeling  in 
tiis  comedies,  than  in  as  many  books  of  Euclid.  He 
no  more  pretends  to  teach  love  for  the  poor,  and  good- 
will for  the  unfortunate,  than  a  dancing-master  does;  he 
teaches  pirouettes  and  flic-flacs ;  and  how  to  bow  to  a  lady, 
and  to  walk  a  minuet.  In  his  private  life  Congreve  was 
immensely  liked  —  more  so  than  any  man  of  his  age, 
almost;  and  to  have  been  so  liked,  must  have  been  kind 
and  good-natured.  His  good-nature  bore  him  through 
extreme  bodily  ills  and  pain,  with  uncommon  cheerful- 
ness and  courage.  Being  so  gay,  so  bright,  so  popular, 
such  a  grand  seigneur,  be  sure  he  was  kind  to  those 
about  him,  generous  to  his  dependents,  serviceable  to  his 


224  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

friends.     Society  does  not  like  a  man  so  long  as  it  liked 
Congreve,  unless  he  is  likeable;  it  finds  out  a  quack  very 
soon ;  it  scorns  a  poltroon  or  a  curmudgeon ;  we  may  be  f 
certain  that  this  man  was  brave,  good-tempered,  and  lib-1; 
eral ;  so,  very  likely,  is  Monsieur  Pirouette,  of  whom  we  • 
spoke ;   he   cuts   his   capers,    he   grins,    bows,    and    dances  ] 
to  his  fiddle.     In  private,  he  may  have  a  hundred  virtues ;  ] 
in  public,  he  teaches  dancing.     His  business  is  cotillions,] 
not  ethics. 

As  much  may  be  said  of  those  charming  and  lazy  Epi- 
cureans, Gay  and  Prior,  sweet  lyric  singers,  comrades  of< 
Anacreon,  and  disciples  of  love  and  the  bottle.  "Is  there 
any  moral  shut  within  the  bosom  of  a  rose?"  sings  our 
great  Tennyson.  Does  a  nightingale  preach  from  a  bough, 
or  the  lark  from  his  cloud  ?  Not  knowingly ;  yet  we 
may  be  grateful,  and  love  larks  and  roses,  and  the  flower- 
crowned  minstrels,  too,  who  laugh  and  who  sing. 

Of  Addison's  contributions. to  the  charity  of  the  world, 
I  have  spoken  before,  in  trying  to  depict  that  noble  figure ; 
and  say  now,  as  then,  that  we  should  thank  him  as  oner 
of  the  greatest  benefactors  of  that  vast  and  immeasur-} 
ably  spreading  family  which  speaks  our  common  tongue. 
Wherever  it  is  spoken,  there  is  no  man  that  does  not  feel, 
and  understand,  and  use  the  noble  English  word  "  gentle- 
man." And  there  is  no  man  that  teaches  us  to  be  gentle- 
men better  than  Joseph  Addison.  Gentle  in  our  bearing 
through  life ;  gentle  and  courteous  to  our  neighbor ;  gentle 
in  dealing  with  his  follies  and  weaknesses;  gentle  in  treat- 
ing his  opposition ;  deferential  to  the  old ;  kindly  to  the 
poor,  and  those  below  us  in  degree;  for  people  above 
and  below  us  we  must  find,  in  whatever  hemisphere  we 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOR  225 

dwell,  whether  kings  or  presidents  govern  us ;  and  in  no 
republic  or  monarchy  that  I  know  of,  is  a  citizen  exempt 
from  the  tax  of  befriending  poverty  and  weakness,  of 
respecting  age,  and  of  honoring  his  father  and  mother. 
It  has  just  been  whispered  to  me  —  I  have  not  been  three 
months  in  the  country,  and,  of  course,  cannot  venture  to 
express  an  opinion  of  my  own  —  that,  in  regard  to  pay- 
ing this  latter  tax  of  respect  and  honor  to  age,  some  very 
few  of  the  republican  youths  are  occasionally  a  little  remiss. 
I  have  heard  of  young  Sons  of  Freedom  publishing  their 
Declaration  of  Independence  before  they  could  well  spell 
it;  and  cutting  the  connection  between  father  and  mother 
before  they  had  learned  to  shave.  My  own  time  of  life 
having  been  stated,  by  various  enlightened  organs  of  pub- 
lic opinion,  at  almost  any  figure  from  forty-five  to  sixty, 
I  cheerfully  own  that  I  belong  to  the  fogey  interest,  and 
ask  leave  to  rank  in,  and  plead  for,  that  respectable  class. 
Now  a  gentleman  can  but  be  a  gentleman,  in  Broadway 
or  the  backwoods,  in  Pall-Mali  or  California;  and  where 
and  whenever  he  lives,  thousands  of  miles  away  in  the 
wilderness,  or  hundreds  of  years  hence,  I  am  sure  that 
reading  the  writings  of  this  true  gentleman,  this  true 
Christian,  this  noble  Joseph  Addison,  must  do  him  good. 
He  may  take  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  to  the  diggings  with 
him,  and  learn  to  be  gentle  and  good-humored,  and 
urbane,  and  friendly  in  the  midst  of  that  struggle  in  which 
his  life  is  engaged.  I  take  leave  to  say  that  the  most  bril- 
liant youth  of  this  city  may  read  over  this  delightful 
memorial  of  a  by-gone  age,  of  fashions  long  passed  away; 
of  manners  long  since  changed  and  modified ;  of  noble 
gentlemen,  and  a  great,  and  a  brilliant  and  polished  soci- 


226  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

ety;  and  find  in  it  much  to  charm  and  polish,  to  refine 
and  instruct  him  —  a  courteousness,  which  can  be  out  of 
place  at  no  time,  and  under  no  flag;  a  politeness  and 
simplicity,  a  truthful  manhood,  a  gentle  respect  and  defer- 
ence, which  may  be  kept  as  the  unbought  grace  of  life, 
and  cheap  defence  of  mankind,  long  after  its  old  artificial 
distinctions,  after  periwigs,  and  small-swords,  and  ruf- 
fles, and  red-heeled  shoes,  and  titles,  and  stars  and  garters 
have  passed  away.  I  will  tell  you  when  I  have  been 
put  in  mind  of  two  of  the  finest  gentlemen  books  bring 
us  any  mention  of.  I  mean  our  books  (not  books  of  his- 
tory, but  books  of  humor).  I  will  tell  you  when  I  have 
been  put  in  mind  of  the  courteous  gallantry  of  the  noble 
knight,  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  of  Coverley  Manor,  of 
the  noble  Hidalgo  Don  Quixote  of  La  Mancha:  here  in 
your  own  omnibus-carriages  and  railway-cars,  when  I 
have  seen  a  woman  step  in,  handsome  or  not,  well  dressed 
or  not,  and  a  workman  in  hob-nail  shoes,  or  a  dandy  in 
the  height  of  the  fashion,  rise  up  and  give  her  his  place. 
I  think  Mr.  Spectator,  with  his  short  face,  if  he  had 
seen  such  a  deed  of  courtesy,  would  have  smiled  a  sweet 
smile  to  the  doer  of  that  gentleman-like  action,  and  have 
made  him  a  low  bow  from  under  .his  great  periwig,  and 
have  gone  home  and  written  a  pretty  paper  about  him. 

I  am  sure  Dick  Steele  would  have  hailed  him,  were 
he  dandy  or  mechanic,  and  asked  him  to  a  tavern  to 
share  a  bottle,  or  perhaps  half  a  dozen.  Mind,  I  do  not 
set  down  the  five  last  flasks  to  Dick's  score  for  virtue, 
and  look  upon  them  as  works  of  the  most  questionable 
supererogation. 

Steele,  as  a  literary  benefactor  to  the  world's  charity, 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOR 

must  rank  very  high  indeed,  not  merely  from  his  givings,  I 
which  were  abundant,  but  because  his  endowments  aref 
prodigiously  increased  in  value  since  he  bequeathed  them,  j 
as  the  revenues  of  the  lands,  bequeathed  to  our  Foundling  V 
Hospital  at  London,  by  honest  Captain  Coram,  its  founder, 
are  immensely  enhanced  by  the  houses  since  built  upon 
them.  Steele  was  the  founder  of  sejitirnental  writing  in 
English,  and  how  the  land  hasHBeensince  occupied,  and 
what  hundreds  of  us  have  laid  out  gardens  and  built  up 
tenements  on  Steele's  ground !  Before  his  time,  readers 
or  hearers  were  never  called  upon  to  cry  except  at  a 
tragedy;  and  compassion  was  not  expected  to  express  itself 
otherwise  than  in  blank  verse,  or  for  personages  much 
lower  in  rank  than  a  dethroned  monarch,  or  a  widowed 
or  a  jilted  empress.  He  stepped  off  the  high-heeled 
cothurnus,  and  came  down  into  common  life;  he  held  out 
his  great  hearty  arms,  and  embraced  us  all ;  he  had  a  bow 
for  all  women,  a  kiss  for  all  children,  a  shake  of  the  hand 
for  all  men,  high  or  low;  he  showed  us  Heaven's  sun 
shining  every  day  on  quiet  homes  —  not  gilded  palace- 
roofs  only,  or  court  processions,  or  heroic  warriors  fight- 
ing for  princesses  and  pitched  battles.  He  took  away 
comedy  from  behind  the  fine  lady's  alcove,  or  the  screen 
where  the  libertine  was  watching  her.  He  ended  all  that 
wretched  business  of  wives  jeering  at  their  husbands,  or 
rakes  laughing  wives,  and  husbands  too,  to  scorn.  That 
miserable,  rouged,  tawdry,  sparkling,  hollow-hearted  com- 
edy of  the  Restoration  fled  before  him,  and,  like  the 
wicked  spirit  in  the  fairy-books,  shrank,  as  Steele  let  the 
daylight  in,  and  shrieked,  and  shuddered,  and  vanished. 
The  stage  of  humorists  has  been  common-life  ever  since 


228  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

Steele's   and   Addison's   time  —  the   joys   and    griefs,    the/ 
aversions  and  sympathies,  the  laughter  and  tears  of  nature. 
And  here,  coming  off  the  stage,  and  throwing  aside  the 
motley-habit,  or  satiric  disguise,  in  which  he  had  before 
entertained  you,  mingling  with  the  world,  and  wearing 
the    same   coat    as    his    neighbor,    the    humorist's    service 
became  straightway  immensely  more  available;  his  means 
of  doing  good  infinitely  multiplied ;  his  success,  and  the 
esteem  in  which  he  was  held,  proportionately  increased. 
It  requires  an  effort,  of  which  all  minds  are  not  capable, 
to  understand  "  Don  Quixote" ;  children  and  common  peo- 
ple still  read  "  Gulliver  "  for  the  story  merely.   Many  more 
persons  are  sickened  by  "Jonathan  Wild  "  than  can  compre- 
hend the  satire  of  it.     Each  of  the  great  men  who  wrote 
those  books  was  speaking  from  behind  the  §atin£_jnask- 1 
anon  mentioned.     Its  distortions  appal  many  simple  spec- 
tators; its  settled  sneer  or  laugh  is  unintelligible  to  thou- 
sands, who  have  not  the  wit  to  interpret  the  meaning  of  ; 
the  vizored  satirist  preaching  from  within.     Many  a  man  I 
was  at  fault  about  Jonathan  Wild's  greatness,  who  could  J 
feel  and  relish  Allworthy's  goodness  in  "  Tom  Jones,"  and 
Doctor  Harrison's  in  "  Amelia,"  and  dear  Parson  Adams, 
and  Joseph  Andrews.     We  love  to  read ;  wre  may  grow 
ever  so  old,  but  we  love -to  read  of  them  still  —  of  love 
and   beauty,   of   frankness,   and   bravery,   and   generosity. 
We    hate    hypocrites    and    cowards;    we    long   to    defend 
oppressed    innocence,    and    to    soothe    and    succor    gentle 
women  and  children.     We  are  glad  when  vice  is  foiled 
and  rascals  punished;  we  lend  a  foot  to  kick  Blifil  down 
stairs;   and   as   we   attend   the   brave   bridegroom   to   his 
wedding  on  the  happy  marriage  day,  we  ask  the  grooms- 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOR  229 

man's  privilege  to  salute  the  blushing  cheek  of  Sophia. 
A  lax  morality  in  many  a  vital  point  I  own  in  Fielding, 
but  a  great  hearty  sympathy  and  benevolence,  a  great 
kindness  for  the  poor;  a  great  gentleness  and  pity  for 
the  unfortunate,  a  great  love  for  the  pure  and  good  — 
these  are  among  the  contributions  to  the  charity  of  the 
world  with  which  this  erring  but  noble  creature  endowed  it. 

As  for  Goldsmith,  if  the  youngest  and  most  unlettered 
person  here  has  not  been  happy  with  the  family  at  Wake^ 
field ;  has  not  rejoiced  when  Olivia  returned,  and  been 
thankful  for  her  forgiveness  and  restoration ;  has  not 
laughed  with  delighted  good  humor  over  Moses's  gross  of 
green  spectacles ;  has  not  loved  with  all  his  heart  the 
good  Vicar,  and  that  kind  spirit  which  created  these 
charming  figures,  and  devised  the  beneficent  fiction  which 
speaks  to  us  so  tenderly  —  what  call  is  there  for  me  to 
speak?  In  this  place,  and  on  this  occasion,  remembering 
these  men,  I  claim  from  you  your  sympathy  for  the  good 
they  have  done,  and  for  the  sweet  charity  which  they 
have  bestowed  on  the  world. 

When  humor  joins  with  rhythm  and  music,  and  appears 
in  song,  its  influence  is  irresistible,  its  charities  are  count- 
less; it  stirs  the  feelings  to  love,  peace,  friendship,  as 
scarce  any  moral  agent  can.  The  songs  of  Beranger  are 
hymns  of  love  and  tenderness ;  I  have  seen  great  whis- 
kered Frenchmen  warbling  the  "  Bonne  Vieille,"  the  "  Sol- 
dats  au  pas,  au  pas  " ;  with  tears  rolling  down  their  mus- 
taches. At  a  Burns  festival,  I  have  seen  Scotchmen 
singing  Burns,  while  the  drops  twinkled  on  their  fur- 
rowed" cheeks ;  while  each  rough  hand  was  flung  out  to 
grasp  its  neighbor's;  while  early  scenes  and  sacred  recol- 


230  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

lections,  and  dear  and  delightful  memories  of  the  past 
came  rushing  back  at  the  sound  of  the  familiar  words  and 
music,  and  the  softened  heart  was  full  of  love,  and  friend- 
ship, and  home.  Humor !  if  tears  are  the  alms  of  gentle 

5  spirits,  and  may  be  counted,  as  sure  they  may,  among 
the  sweetest  of  life's  charities  —  of  that  kindly  sensibility, 
and  sweet  sudden  emotion,  which  exhibits  itself  at  the 
eyes,  I  know  no  such  provocative  as  humor.  It  is  an 
irresistible  sympathiser ;  it  surprises  you  into  compassion : 

10  you  are  laughing  and  disarmed,  and  suddenly  forced  into 
tears.  I  heard  a  humorous  balladist  not  long  since,  a 
minstrel  with  wool  on  his  head,  and  an  ultra-Ethiopian 
complexion,  who  performed  a  negro  ballad,  that  I  con- 
fess moistened  these  spectacles  in  the  most  unexpected 

15  manner.  They,  have  gazed  at  dozens  of  tragedy-queens, 
dying  on  the  stage,  and  expiring  in  appropriate  blank 
verse,  and  I  never  wanted  to  wipe  them.  They  have 
looked  up,  with  deep  respect  be  it  said,  at  many  scores 
of  clergymen  in  pulpits,  and  without  being  dimmed ;  and 

20  behold  a  vagabond  with  a  corked  face  and  a  banjo  sings 
a  little  song,  strikes  a  wild  note  which  sets  the  whole 
heart  thrilling  with  happy  pity.  Humor!  humor  is  the 
mistress  of  tears;  she  knows  the  way  to  the  fons  lachry- 
marum,  strikes  in  dry  and  rugged  places  with  her  enchant- 

25  ing  wand,  and  bids  the  fountain  gush  and  sparkle.  She 
has  refreshed  myriads  more  from  her  natural  springs  than 
every  tragedy  has  watered  from  her  pompous  old  urn. 

Popular  humor,  and  especially  modern  popular  humor, 
and  the  writers,  its  exponents,  are  alwrays  kind  and  chival- 

30  rous,  taking  the  side  of  the  weak  against  the  strong.  In 
our  plays,  and  books,  and  entertainments  for  the  lower 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOR  231 

classes  in  England,  I  scarce  remember  a  story  or  theatrical 
piece  in  which  a  wicked  aristocrat  is  not  bepummelled  by 
a  dashing  young  champion  of  the  people.  •  There  was  a 
book  which  had  an  immense  popularity  in  England,  and 
I  believe  has  been  greatly  read  here,  in  which  the  mys- 
teries of  the  Court  of  London  were  said  to  be  unveiled 
by  a  gentleman,  who  I  suspect  knows  about  as  much  about 
the  Court  of  London  as  he  does  of  that  of  Pekin.  Years 
ago  I  treated  myself  to  sixpenny-worth  of  this  performance 
at  a  railway  station,  and  found  poor  dear  George  the 
Fourth,  our  late  most  religious  and  gracious  king,  occu- 
pied in  the  most  flagitious  designs  against  the  tradesmen's 
families  in  his  metropolitan  city.  A  couple  of  years  after, 
I  took  sixpenny-worth  more  of  the  same  delectable  his- 
tory: George  the  Fourth  was  still  at  work,  still  ruining 
the  peace  of  tradesmen's  families;  he  had  been  at  it  for 
two  whole  years,  and  a  bookseller  at  the  Brighton  sta- 
tion told  me  that  this  book  was  by  many,  many  times  the 
most  popular  of  all  periodical  tales  then  published,  because, 
says  he,  "it  lashes  the  aristocracy!"  Not  long  since,  I 
went  to  two  penny-theatres  in  London;  immense  eager 
crowds  of  people  thronged  the  buildings,  and  the  vast 
masses  thrilled  and  vibrated  with  the  emotion  produced 
by  the  piece  represented  on  the  stage,  and  burst  into* 
applause  or  laughter,  such  as  many  a  polite  actor  would 
sigh  for  in  vain.  In  both  these  pieces  there  was  a  wicked 
lord  kicked  out  of  the  window  —  there  is  always  a  wicked 
lord  kicked  out  of  the  window.  First  piece: —  "  Domes- 
tic drama  —  Thrilling  interest !  —  Weaver's  family  in  dis- 
tress !  —  Fanny  gives  away  her  bread  to  little  Jacky,  and 
starves !  —  Enter  wicked  lord :  tempts  Fanny  with  offer 


232  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

of  diamond  necklace,  champagne  suppers,  and  coach  to 
ride  in  !  —  Enter  sturdy  blacksmith.  —  Scuffle  between 
blacksmith  and  aristocratic  minion:  exit  wicked  lord  out 
of  the  window."  Fanny,  of  course,  becomes  Mrs.  Black- 
smith. 

The  second  piece  was  a  nautical  drama,  also  of  thrill- 
ing interest,  consisting  chiefly  of  hornpipes,  and  acts  of 
most  tremendous  oppression  on  the  part  of  certain  earls 
and  magistrates  towards  the  people.  Two  wicked  lords 
were  in  this  piece  the  atrocious  scoundrels :  one  aristocrat, 
a  deep-dyed  villain,  in  short  duck  trousers  and  Berlin 
cotton  gloves;  wThile  the  other  minion  of  wealth  enjoyed 
an  eye-glass  with  a  blue  ribbon,  and  whisked  about  the 
stage  with  a  penny  cane.  Having  made  away  with  Fanny 
Forester's  lover,  Tom  Bowling,  by  means  of  a  press-gang, 
they  meet  her  all  alone  on  a  common,  and  subject  her  to 
the  most  opprobrious  language  and  behavior :  "  Release 
me,  villains!  "  says  Fanny,  pulling  a  brace  of  pistols  out 
of  her  pockets,  and  crossing  them  over  her  breast  so  as  to 
cover  wicked  lord  to  the  right,  wicked  lord  to  the  left; 
and  they  might  have  remained  in  that  position  ever  so 
much  longer  (for  the  aristocratic  rascals  had  pistols  too), 
had  not  Tom  Bowling  returned  from  sea  at  the  very  nick 
of  time,  armed  wTith  a  great  marlinspike,  with  which  — 
whack!  whack!  down  goes  wicked  lord,  No.  1 — wicked 
lord,  No.  2.  Fanny  rushes  into  Tom's  arms  with  a  hys- 
terical shriek,  and  I  dare  say  they  marry,  and  are  very 
happy  ever  after.  Popular  fun  is  always  kind:  it  is  the 
champion  of  the  humble  against  the  great.  In  all  popular 
parables,  it  is  Little  Jack  that  conquers,  and  the  Giant 
that  topples  down.  I  think  our  popular  authors  are  rather 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOR  233 

hard  upon  the  great  folks!  Well,  well!  their  lordships 
have  all  the  money,  and  can  afford  to  be  laughed  at. 

In  our  days,  in  England,  the  importance  of  the  humor- 
ous preacher  has  prodigiously  increased ;  his  audiences  are 
enormous;  every  week  or  month  his  happy  congregations 
flock  to  hirfi;  they  never  tire  of  such  sermons.  I  believe 
my  friend  Mr.  Punch  is  as  popular  to-day  as  he  has  been 
any  day  since  his~r3irth;  I  believe  that  Mr.  Dickens's 
readers  are  even  more  numerous  than  they  have  ever  been 
since  his  unrivalled  pen  commenced  to  delight  the  world 
with  its  humor.  We  have  among  us  other  literary  par- 
ties; we  have  "  Punch,"  as  I  have  said,  preaching  from 
his  booth;  we  have  a  Jerrold  party  very  numerous,  and 
faithful  to  that  acute  thinker  and  distinguished  wit;  and 
we  have  also  —  it  must  be  said,  and  it  is  still  to  be 
hoped  —  a  "  Vanity  Fair  "  party,  the  author  of  which 
work  has  lately  been  described  by  the  London  "  Times  " 
newspaper  as  a  writer  of  considerable  parts,  but  a  dreary 
misanthrope,  who  sees  no  good  anywhere,  who  sees  the 
sky  above  him  green,  I  think,  instead  of  blue,  and  only 
miserable  sinners  round  about  him.  So  we  are ;  so  is 
every  writer  and  every  reader  I  ever  heard  of;  so  was 
every  being  who  ever  trod  this  earth,  save  One.  I  can- 
not help  telling  the  truth  as  I  view  it,  and  describing  what 
I  see.  To  describe  it  otherwise  than  it  seems  to  me 
would  be  falsehood  in  that  calling  in  which  it  has  pleased 
Heaven  to  place  me ;  treason  to  that  conscience  which 
says  that  men  are  weak ;  that  truth  must  be  told ;  that 
fault  must  be  owned ;  that  pardon  must  be  prayed  for, 
and  that  love  reigns  supreme  over  all. 

I  look  back  at  the  good  which  of  late  years  the  kind 


234  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

English  humorists  have  done;  and  if  you  are  pleased  to 
rank  the  present  speaker  among  that  class,  I  own  to  an 
honest  pride  at  thinking  what  benefits  society  has  derived 
from  men  of  our  calling.  That  "  Song  of  the  Shirt," 
which  "  Punch  "  first  published,  and  the  noble,  the  suf- 
fering, the  melancholy,  the  tender  Hood  sang,  may  surely 
rank  as  a  great  act  of  charity  to  the  world,  and  call  from 
it  its  thanks  and  regard  for  its  teacher  and  benefactor. 
That  astonishing  poem,  which  you  all  of  you  know,  of 
the  "  Bridge  of  Sighs,"  who  can  read  it  without  tender- 
ness, without  reverence  to  Heaven,  charity  to  man,  and 
thanks  to  the  beneficent  genius  which  sang  for  us  so 
nobly  ? 

I  never  saw  the  writer  but  once,  but  shall  always  be 
glad  to  think  that  some  words  of  mine,  printed  in  a 
periodical  of  that  day,  and  in  praise  of  these  amazing 
verses  (which,  strange  to  say,  appeared  almost  unnoticed 
at  first  in  the  magazine  in  which  Mr.  Hood  published 
them) —  I  am  proud,  I  say,  to  think  that  some  words  of 
appreciation  of  mine  reached  him  on  his  death-bed,  and 
pleased  and  soothed  him  in  that  hour  of  manful  resigna- 
tion and  pain. 

As  for  the  charities  of  Mr.  Dickens,  multiplied  kind- 
nesses which  he  has  conferred  upon  us  all ;  upon  our  chil- 
dren ;  upon  people  educated  and  uneducated ;  upon  the 
myriads  here  and  at  home,  who  speak  our  common  tongue ; 
have  not  you,  have  not  I,  all  of  us  reason  to  be  thankful 
to  this  kind  friend,  who  soothed  and  charmed  so  many 
hours,  brought  pleasure  and  sweet  laughter  to  so  many 
homes ;  made  such  multitudes  of  children  happy ;  endowed 
us  with  such  a  sweet  store  of  gracious  thoughts,  fair  fan- 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOR  235 

cies,  soft  sympathies,  hearty  enjoyments.  There  are  crea- 
tions of  Mr.  Dickens's  which  seem  to  me  to  rank  as  per- 
sonal benefits;  figures  so  delightful,  that  one  feels  happier? 
and  better  for  knowing  them,  as  one  does  for  being/ 
brought  into  the  society  of  very  good  men  and  women. 
The  atmosphere  in  which  these  people  live  is  wholesome 
to  breathe  in;  you  feel  that  to  be  allowed  to  speak  to 
them  is  a  personal  kindness;  you  come  away  better  for 
your  contact  with  them;  your  hands  seem  cleaner  from 
having  the  privilege  of  shaking  theirs.  Was  there  ever  a 
better  charity  sermon  preached  in  the  world  than  DickO 
ens's  "  Christmas  Carol  "?  I  believe  it  occasioned  immense  V 
hospitality  throughout  England ;  was  the  means  of  light- 
ing up  hundreds  of  kind  fires  at  Christmas  time;  caused 
a  wonderful  outpouring  of  Christmas  good  feeling;  of 
Christmas  punch-brewing;  an  awful  slaughter  of  Christ- 
mas turkeys,  and  roasting  and  basting  of  Christmas  beef. 
As  for  this  man's  love  of  children,  that  amiable  organ 
at  the  back  of  his  honest  head  must  be  perfectly  mon- 
strous. All  children  ought  to  love  him.  I  know  two 
that  do,  and  read  his  books  ten  times  for  once  that  they 
peruse  the  dismal  preachments  of  their  father.  I  know 
one  who,  when  she  is  happy,  reads  "  Nicholas  Nickleby  " ; 
when  she  is  unhappy,  reads  "  Nicholas  Nickleby";  when 
she  is  tired,  reads  "  Nicholas  Nickleby  " ;  when  she  is  in 
bed,  reads  "  Nicholas  Nickleby  " ;  when  she  has  nothing 
to  do,  reads  "  Nicholas  Nickleby  " ;  and  when  she  has 
finished  the  book,  reads  "  Nicholas  Nickleby  "  over  again. 
This  candid  young  critic,  at  ten  years  of  age,  said,  "  I 
like  Mr.  Dickens's  books  much  better  than  your  books, 
papa;  "  and  frequently  expressed  her  desire  that  the  latter 


236  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

author  should  write  a  book  like  one  of  Mr.  Dickens's 
books.  Who  can  ?  Every  man  must  say  his  own  thoughts 
in  his  own  voice,  in  his  own  way;  lucky  is  he  who  has 
such  a  charming  gift  of  nature  as  this,  which  brings  all 
5  the  children  in  the  world  trooping  to  him,  and  being 
fond  of  him. 

I  remember  when  that  famous  "  Nicholas  Nickleby  " 
came  out,  seeing  a  letter  from  a  pedagogue  in  the  north 
of  England,  which,  dismal  as  it  was,  was  immensely  com- 
10  ical.  "  Mr.  Dickens's  ill-advised  publication,"  wrote  the 
poor  schoolmaster,  "  has  passed  like  a  whirlwind  over  the 
schools  of  the  North."  He  was  a  proprietor  of  a  cheap 
school ;  Dotheboys  Hall  w^as  a  cheap  school.  There  were 
many  such  establishments  in  the  northern  counties.  Par- 
is ents  were  ashamed,  that  never  were  ashamed  before,  until 
the  kind  satirist  laughed  at  them;  relatives  were  fright- 
ened ;  scores  of  little  scholars  were  taken  away ;  poor 
schoolmasters  had  to  shut  their  shops  up ;  every  peda- 
gogue was  voted  a  Squeers,  and  many  suffered,  no  doubt 
20  unjustly;  but  afterwards  school-boys'  backs  were  not  so 
much  caned ;  school-boys'  meat  was  less  tough  and  more 
plentiful ;  and  school-boys'  milk  was  not  so  sky-blue. 
What  a  kind  light  of  benevolence  it  is  that  plays  round 
Crummies  and  the  Phenomenon,  and  all  those  poor  thea- 
25  tre  people  in  that  charming  book!  What  a  humor!  and 
what  a  good-humor !  I  coincide  with  the  youthful  critic, 
whose  opinion  has  just  been  mentioned,  and  own  to  a 
family  admiration  for  "  Nicholas  Nickleby." 

One  might  go  on,  though  the  task  would  be  endless 

so    and  needless,  chronicling  the  names  of  kind   folks  with 

whom  this  kind  genius  has  made  us  familiar.     Who  does 


CHARITY  AND  HUMOR  237 

not  love  the  Marchioness,  and  Mr.  Richard  Swiveller? 
Who  does  not  sympathize,  not  only  with  Oliver  Twist, 
but  his  admirable  young  friend  the  artful  Dodger? 
Who  has  not  the  inestimable  advantage  of  possessing  a 
Mrs.  Nickleby  in  his  own  family?  Who  does  not  bless 
Sairey  Gamp  and  wonder  at  Mrs.  Harris?  Who  does 
not  venerate  the  chief  of  that  illustrious  family  who, 
being  stricken  by  misfortune,  wisely  and  greatly  turned 
his  attention  to  "  coals,"  the  accomplished,  the  Epicurean, 
the  dirty,  the  delightful  Micawber? 

I  may  quarrel  with  Mr.  Dickens's  art  a  thousand  and 
a  thousand  times,  —  I  delight  and  wonder  at  his  genius ; 
I  recognize  in  it  —  I  speak  with  awe  and  reverence  —  a 
commission  from  that  Divine  Beneficence,  whose  blessed 
task  we  know  it  will  one  day  be  to  wipe  every  tear  from 
every  eye.  Thankfully  I  take  my  share  of  the  feast  of 
love  and  kindness,  which  this  gentle,  and  generous,  and 
charitable  soul  has  contributed  to  the  happiness  of  the 
world.  I  take  and  enjoy  my  share,  and  say  a  benediction 
for  the  meal. 


NOTES 


SWIFT 

5. — Harlequin.  A  character  of  the  early  Italian  masked  comedy,  who, 
dressed  in  a  parti-colored  costume,  amused  the  audience  by  his  pranks  and 
rude  wit.  He  was  transferred  to  the  English  stage  in  the  eighteenth  century 
by  the  actor  Rich,  of  whom  this  story  was  frequently  told. 

15. — Try  and  describe.  For  try  to  describe;  a  colloquialism  which  Thack- 
eray frequently  adopts;  (cf.  p.  38,  1.  2,  to  try  and  please,  etc.) 

20. —  Kilkenny.  A  town  on  the  Nore  in  the  county  of  Kilkenny  in  southern 
Ireland.  Swift  entered  the  grammar  school  here  when  he  was  six,  and  re- 
mained until  he  was  fourteen.  Among  his  schoolfellows  here  was  William 
Congreve,  the  dramatist. 

21. — Was  wild.  There  is  no  evidence  that  Swift  was  dissipated  while  at 
Trinity  College.  He  seems,  however,  to  have  applied  himself  only  to  those 
studies  which  suited  his  fancy. 

25. — Took  orders.  I.  e.  he  was  ordained  as  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of 
England. 

30. — Laracor.  A  small  town  in  the  county  of  Meath,  province  of  Leinster, 
Ireland. 

1. — Temple's  natural  daughter.  "  'Miss  Hetty'  she  was  called  in  the  family, 
where  her  face,  and  her  dress,  and  Sir  William's  treatment  of  her,  all  made  the 
real  fact  about  her  birth  plain  enough.  Sir  William  left  her  a  thousand 
pounds."  (Hannay's  note.)  But  there  is  no  evidence  that  Temple  was 
Stella's  father. 

6. — 'His  deanery  of  St.  Patrick.  Swift  was  installed  as  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's 
Cathedral  in  Dublin,  June  13,  1713. 

12. — Drapier's  Letters.  A  series  of  letters  begun  in  1724,  addressed  by 
Swift,  under  the  pen-name  of  M.  B.  Drapier,  to  the  Irish  people,  and  advising 
them  to  refuse  the  copper  money  coined  under  government  patent  by  William 
\Vood  ("Wood's  half-pence").  The  transaction  was  a  corrupt  one,  and  was 
made  by  Swift  an  occasion  for  a  general  discussion  of  Irish  grievances.  His 
fierce  attacks  resulted  in  a  withdrawal  of  the  patent. 

13. — Gulliver's  Travels.  Travels  into  Several  Remote  Nations  of  the  World 
by  Lemuel  Gulliver  (1726) .  One  of  Swift's  bitterest  satires  on  the  weaknesses 
and  vices  of  the  human  race. 

13. — He  married  Hester  Johnson.  The  question  of  Swift's  marriage  to 
Hester  Johnson  (Stella)  occasioned  a  lively  literary  dispute.  Craik,  Swift's 
most  reliable  biographer,  believes  that  the  marriage  actually  took  place,  but 
the  fullest  investigation  has  failed  to  reveal  any  evidence  in  support  of  his  view. 

239 


240  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

37.         24. — Scott.     Sir  Walter  Scott,  whose  Life  of  Swift  appeared  in  1814. 

37.  25. — Johnson.     Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  (1709-84),  author  of  the  famous  dic- 
tionary.    His  essay  on  Swift  is  contained  in  his  Lives  of  the  English  Poets. 
Boswell  refers  to  Johnson's  opinion  of  Swift  in  his  Tour  to  the  Hebrides:    "He 
seemed  to  me  to  have  an  unaccountable  prejudice  against  Swift;  for  I  once 
took  the  liberty  to  ask  him  if  Swift  had  personally  offended  him,  and  he  told 
me  he  had  not." 

38.  5. — Stella  and   Vanessa  controversy.     An  allusion  to  the  quarrel  between 
Stella  and  Vanessa   (Esther  Vanhomrigh).     Miss  Vanhomrigh  felt  for  Swift -j 
a  passion  which  he  sought  alternately  to  humor  and  to  check.     She  followed 
him  to  Ireland  in  1714.     In  1723  she  wrote  to  Stella  or  to  Swift,  asking  whether' 
they  were  married;  Swift  went  over  to  Vanessa's  house,  threw  her  letter  on 
the  table,  and  went  off  without  saying  a  word.     Vanessa  survived  the  shock 
only  a  few  weeks,  and  in  her  will  left  money  for  the  publication  of  Swift's  poem, 
Cadenus  and  Vanessa,  in  which  their  amour  is  described. 

38.          10. — Would  we  have  liked  to  live  with  him?     An  instance  of  Thackeray's  ; 
fondness   for   imagining   himself  a  contemporary  of  the  eighteenth  century 
characters  of  whom  he  wrote. 

38.  18. — Fielding,  Henry  (1707-54);  the  great  English  novelist;  author  of 
Tom  Jones.  See  Thackeray's  fifth  lecture. 

38.  19. — The  Temple.  The  name  applied  to  the  great  law  school  and  barris- 
ters' quarters  in  London.  The  building  occupies  the  site  of  a  semi-monastic 
structure  belonging  originally  to  the  order  of  Knights  Templars. 

38.  24.— Goldsmith,  Oliver  (1728-1774);  author  of  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield  and 
The  Deserted  Village.  See  Thackeray's  sixth  lecture. 

38.  24.— James  Boswell  (1740-95).     The  friend  and  biographer  of  Dr.  Samuel  \ 
Johnson. 

39.  4. — A  coward's  blow  and  a  dirty  bludgeon.     Thackeray  is  here  rather  unjust 
to  Swift. 

39.          5*. — Blue  ribbon.     The  insignia  of  the  Order  of  the  Garter,   the  highest 

decoration  in  the  gift  of  the  English  crown. 
39.          13. — The  Opposition.     The  members  of  Parliament  opposed  to  the  party 

in  office. 
39.          20. — Bolingbroke.     Henry   St.   John,    Viscount    Bolingbroke     (1678-1751); 

English  statesman  and  political  writer;  at  one  time  prime  minister.     This 

letter  was  addressed  to  Bolingbroke  and  Pope  (April  5,  1729) ;  the  lines  quoted 

are  from  the  part  written  to  Pope. 

39.  31. — Macheaih.     The  highwayman  hero  of  Gay's  Beggar's  Opera   (1728). 

40.  2. — Apron.     The  characteristic  garment  worn  by  the  bishops  of  the  English 
church  as  a  sign  of  their  office. 

40.          4. — A  living.     I.  e.  an  ecclesiastical  living;  a  benefice. 
40.          5. — Patent  place.     A  post  conferred  by  royal  patent  or  license. 
40.          8. — Mitre  and  crosier.     The  insignia  of  office  of  a  bishop. 
40.          9. — St.  James's.    St.  James's  Palace  was  the  official  residence  of  Queen  Anne. 
40.          20. — Condottieri.     Italian  for  "soldiers  of  fortune."     The  name  refers  here 
to  party  leaders. 


NOTES  241 

20. — The  Boyne.  The  battle  of  the  Boyne  was  fought  on  the  river  of  that 
name  in  Ireland,  July  1,  1690,  between  King  William  III  and  the  deposed 
Stuart  king,  James  II.  James  was  decisively  defeated. 

26. — South  Sea  Bubble.  The  popular  name  given  to  the  scheme  devised 
by  the  South  Sea  Company  in  1711  to  provide  for  the  extinction  of  the  public 
debt.  The  company  prospered  enormously,  the  shares  of  its  stock  selling  at 
many  times  their  par  value.  Thousands  of  people  in  all  walks  of  life  invested 
their  money  with  the  company  and  lost  it  when  the  bubble  burst  in  1720. 

27. — Railway  mania.  An  effort  was  made  in  1850  to  float  a  great  number 
of  railway  companies.  The  results  to  the  shareholders  were,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  South  Sea  Bubble,  usually  disastrous.  "Not  many  centuries  ago"  is, 
of  course,  a  humorous  hyperbole  for  "a  short  time  ago." 

11. — Coup.     A  political  or  diplomatic  stroke. 

14. — French  general.  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  When  the  British  govern- 
ment was  led  to  believe  that  he  had  planned  to  employ  the  neutral  Danish 
fleet  against  Great  Britain,  they  demanded  from  the  Danes  the  surrender  of 
the  fleet,  promising  to  restore  the  ships  at  the  end  of  the  war.  When  the 
Danes  refused,  the  British  bombarded  Copenhagen  until  the  fleet  was  sur- 
rendered (September  6,  1807).  Thackeray  represents  Napoleon  as  making 
the  Copenhagen  affair  a  pretext  for  his  proposed  invasion  of  England. 

12. — Poetical  power.  Dryden's  opinion  of  Swift's  poetical  power  was 
summed  up  in  the  terse  criticism:  "Cousin  Swift,  you  will  never  be  a  poet." 
Most  of  Swift's  verse  is  vigorous;  little  of  it  is  real  poetry. 

21.—  Sir  William  Temple  (1628-99).  Statesman,  essayist,  dilettante.  In 
political  life  he  is  best  known  as  the  originator  of  the  triple  alliance  of  Holland, 
England,  and  Sweden  against  France;  in  literature  his  best  known  work  is  his 
essay  on  the  art  of  gardening.  Swift's  employment  in  Temple's  house  began 
in  1689  and  continued  with  only  one  notable  break  until  Sir  William's  death. 
For  an  account  of  Swift's  position  in  the  Temple  household  see  Craik's  Life, 
Vol.  1,  Chap.  1.  Thackeray's  picture  of  Temple  is  somewhat  harsh  and  un- 
sympathetic. 

26. — The  upper  servants'  table.  Although  the  position  of  a  private  chap- 
lain in  a  nobleman's  house  was  not,  in  the  seventeenth  and  early  eighteenth 
centuries,  counted  as  much  above  that  of  an  upper  servant,  there  is  no  evidence 
that  Swift  did  not  dine  with  the  family  while  he  was  under  Temple's  roof. 

7. — Epicurean.  A  follower  of  Epicurus,  a  Greek  philosopher  who  lived 
342-270  B.  C.  His  system  of  philosophy  was  soon  misunderstood,  and  his 
rule  of  living  for  pleasure  abused,  until  the  term  Epicurean  came  finally  to  be 
applied  to  the  man  who  gave  himself  up  to  bodily  indulgence.  Thackeray 
uses  the  word  in  its  philosophical  rather  than  in  its  popular  sense. 

9. — He  pays  his  court  to  the  Ciceronian  majesty,  etc.  Figurative  references 
to  Temple's  dilettante  pursuit  of  literature. 

11. — Dallies  by  the  south  wall.  In  his  essay  Upon  the  Gardens  of  Epicurus, 
or  of  Gardening  (1685)  Temple  tells  of  the  growing  of  plums  by  training  them 
against  a  south  wall. 

22 — Dorinda.     Dorinda  is  Swift's  name  for  Martha,  Lady  Gifford,  Tern- 


242  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

pie's  sister;  Dorothea  is  the  name  he  gives  to  Dorothy,  Sir  William's  wife. 
Thackeray's  quotation  is  from  Swift's  poem  Occasioned  by  Sir  William  Temple's 
Late  Illness  and  Recovery  (Dec.,  1693) . 

30. — One  of  the  menials  wrote  it.     I.  e.  Swift. 

5. — Moxa.  "A  woolly,  soft  substance  prepared  from  the  young  leaves  of 
Artemisia  Chinensis,  and  plants  of  other  species,  and  burnt  on  the  skin  to 
produce  an  ulcer;  hence,  any  substance  used  in  a  like  manner."  (Webster's 
Diet.) . 

13. — His  Excellency's  own  gentleman.  I.  e.  Sir  William's  valet  or  body- 
servant. 

14. — Parson  Teague.  The  derisive  name  applied  to  young  Swift.  It  occurs 
in  the  famous  Lillibulero  song,  so  intimately  associated  with  the  English 
revolution  of  1688;  in  it  the  name  "broder  Teague"  is  given  in  derision  to  the 
Irish. 

25. — Hester  Johnson.     Stella;  see  notes  to  37,   1  and  13. 

29.— Plates-bandes .     Flower  borders  for  walks  or  walls. 

30. — Diogenes  Laertius,  The  reputed  author  of  Lives  and  Doctrines  of 
Famous  Philosophers,  written  in  the  third  century  A.  D. 

31. — Julius  C&sar.     "Moreover,  he  hath  left  you  all  his  walks, 

His  private  arbours,  and  new-planted  orchards, 

On  this  side  Tiber; " 

(Julius  Casar  III,  2,  252-4). 

31. — Semiramis.  A  legendary  queen  of  Assyria,  who  flourished  about  2000 
B.  C.  She  is  said  to  have  practiced  horticulture. 

31. — Hesperides.  In  Greek  mythology  the  three  daughters  of  Hesperus, 
the  evening  star.  They  kept  in  their  garden  the  golden  apples  of  Hera,  but 
were  robbed  of  the  treasure  by  Hercules. 

1. — Macenas  (70?-8  B.  C.).  A  statesman  and  cultured  patron  of  literary 
men  in  the  reign  of  Augustus.  He  was  the  owner  of  extensive  gardens. 

1.—  Strabo  (63?  B.  C.-24?  A.  D.).  A  famous  Greek  geographer,  who 
refers  to  certain  beautiful  gardens  in  his  description  of  Jericho. 

2. — The  Assyrian  kings  who  succeeded  Semiramis  kept  up  the  gardens 
which  she  had  had  made.  All  of  the  names  explained  in  the  last  seven  notes 
are  mentioned  by  Temple  in  his  essay  on  gardening. 

3. — Pythagoras  (600?-510?  B.  C.).  A  Greek  philosopher  who  is  known 
chiefly  because  of  his  doctrine  of  the  transmigration  of  souls.  Temple's  ex- 
planation of  the  precept  to  abstain  from  beans  was  undoubtedly  suggested  by 
the  fact  that  beans  were  used  as  ballots  at  Athenian  elections,  the  white  beans 
representing  an  affirmative  vote;  the  black,  a  negative. 

13. — One  person.     I.  e.  Hester  Johnson  (Stella) . 

16.— Bishop  Kennet.  White  Kennet  (1660-1728),  Bishop  of  Peterborough, 
a  scholar  and  antiquarian. 

26. — The  red  bag.  Public  officers  in  England  use  red  woolen  bags  for 
carrying  documents  and  official  seals. 

32.— Mr.  Pope  (a  Papist).  Alexander  Pope  (1688-1744);  English  poet, 
and  translator  of  Homer's  Iliad  and  Odyssey.  See  Thackeray's  fourth  lecture. 


NOTES  243 

7. — This  picture  of  the  great  Dean  seems  a  true  one.  Compare  with  Bishop 
Kennet's  account  of  Swift,  Thackeray's  own  picture  of  the  satirist  in  Henry 
Esmond: 

"I  presume  you  are  the  editor  of  the  Post-Boy,  sir?"  says  the  Doctor  in  a 
grating  voice  that  had  an  Irish  twang;  and  he  looked  at  the  Colonel  from  under 
his  two  bushy  eyebrows  with  a  pair  of  very  clear  blue  eyes.  His  complexion  was 
muddy,  his  figure  rather  fat,  his  chin  double.  He  wore  a  shabby  cassock,  and 
a  shabby  hat  over  his  black  wig,  and  he  pulled  out  a  great  gold  watch,  at  which 
he  looked  very  fierce."  (Book  III,  Chap.  5). 

31. — The  Tale  of  a  Tub."  A  satire  published  in  1704  directed  principally 
against  the  opponents  of  the  Church  of  England,  but  interpreted  by  some  as 
reflecting  upon  all  forms  of  faith.  The  essay  stood  repeatedly  in  the  way  of 
Swift's  ecclesiastical  preferment.  The  bishopric  here  referred  to  was  that  of 
Hereford,  which  Swift's  friends  tried  in  vain  to  secure  for  him  in  1712. 

12. — John  Gay  (1685-1732).  Poet  and  dramatist;  see  Thackeray's  fourth 
lecture. 

13. — A  seat  on  the  Bench.  I.  e.  on  the  bench  of  bishops  in  the  House  of 
Lords. 

16. — Cassock  and  bands.  The  official  attire  of  clergymen  of  the  Church  of 
England. 

25. — Steele  (1672-1729).     English  essayist;  see  Thackeray's  third  lecture. 

1. — "Peccavi."     "I  have  sinned." 

4. — Wooden  shoes.  A  reference  to  the  French  Roman  Catholics,  who  were 
popularly  supposed  to  wear  wooden-soled  shoes. 

9. — Tipsy  guardroom.  A  reference  to  Steele's  army  life,  first  as  a  private 
in  the  Duke  of  Ormond's  troop,  and  then  as  a  captain  in  Lucas's  Fusiliers. 

10. — Covent  Garden.  A  large  square  in  London  which  was  originally  the 
garden  of  the  Abbot  of  Westminster.  The  allusion  is  to  Fielding,  who  was 
helped  home  frequently  from  a  Covent  Garden  tavern. 

14. — Abudah.  A  rich  merchant  of  Bagdad  in  the  Tales  of  the  Genii  by  James 
Ridley  (1736-65) ,  who  is  driven  by  the  nightly  visits  of  a  wretched  old  hag  to 
seek  the  talisman  of  Oromanes,  which  will  bring  the  possessor  perfect  peace. 
Later  he  finds  out  that  perfect  happiness  can  come  only  from  faith  in  God,  and 
a  complete  obedience  to  His  will,  and  that  his  adventures  in  quest  of  the 
talisman  have  been  only  dreams.  The  story  is  not  Arabian,  but  Persian. 

18. — What  a  vulture  that  tore  the  heart  of  that  giant!  Swift  is  here  likened  to 
Prometheus,  in  Greek  mythology  the  Titan  who  presumed  to  steal  fire  from 
heaven,  and  who  was  punished  by  being  chained  to  a  great  rock  on  Mount 
Caucasus;  here  a  vulture  feasted  daily  on  his  liver,  which  grew  again  at  night. 

21. — Goethe  (1749-1832).  The  greatest  German  poet.  Kis  best  known 
work  is  his  drama  Faust.  For  Thackeray's  acquaintance  with  him  see  Intro- 
duction, pp.  13-14. 

25. — "Sceva  indignatio."  "Fierce  indignation."  Quoted  from  the  Latin 
epitaph  which  Swift  wrote  for  his  own  grave:  "Hie  depositum  est  corpus 
Jonathan  Swift,  S.  T.  P.  hujus  ecclesise  cathedralis  decani:  ubi  saeva  indig- 
natio ulterius  cor  lacerare  nequit.  Etc."  (Here  rests  the  body  of  Jonathan 


244  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

Swift,  Professor  of  Sacred  Theology,  Dean  of  this  church,  where  fierce  indigna- 
tion can  no  longer  tear  the  heart.  Etc."). 

52.  6. — Lilliputian  island.  The  land  visited  by  Lemuel  Gulliver  in  the  first 
of  his  voyages.  The  inhabitants  of  the  country  are  represented  as  being  only 
a  few  inches  in  height,  and  as  living  in  a  correspondingly  miniature  world. 

52.  8. — Samson,  with  a  bone  in  his  hand.  Judges  XV,  15:  "And  he  found  a 
new  jaw-bone  of  an  ass,  and  put  forth  his  hand,  and  took  it  and  slew  a  thousand 
men." 

52.  21. — Modest  Proposal.     The  Modest  Proposal  for  preventing  the  Children 
of  Poor  People  in  Ireland  from  being  a  Burden  to  their  Parents  or  the  Country 
(1729)  was  one  of  the  numerous  satirical  tracts  which  Swift  wrote  to  reveal  the 
wretchedness  of  life  in   Ireland.     The  "proposal,"   presented   with  studied 
calmness  and  horrible  ghastliness  of  detail,  was  that  parents  unable  to  support 
their  children  should  fatten  and  sell  them  to  be  eaten. 

53.  19. — Almanack  des  Gourmands.     Almanac  of  Gormands,  published  in  Paris, 
1805-12. 

53.  20. — On  natt  rdtisseur.  "A  man  is  born  a  cook;"  i.  e.  cooks — like  poets — 
are  born,  not  made. 

53.  27. — Among  his  favorite  horses.     On  his  fourth  voyage  Gulliver  discovered 
a  country,  the  land  of  the  Houyhnhnms,  which  was  inhabited  by  a  race  of 
intelligent  horses,  who  employed  human  beings  as  pack  and  work  animals. 

54.  11 . — Royal  Sovereign.   A  common  name  for  a  leading  ship  in  the  British  navy. 
54.          1 1 . — Brobdingnag.     The  land  of  a  giant  race  visited  by  Gulliver. 

54.  17. — Austrian  lip.  The  protruding  under  lip  of  the  House  of  Hapsburg, 
the  reigning  family  in  Austria. 

54.  25. — Mr.  Macaulay  has  quoted  the  charming  lines  of  the  poet.  Macaulay 
quoted  in  his  essay  on  The  Life  and  Writings  of  Addison  (1843)  from  Addison's 
Latin  poem  of  the  battle  of  the  Cranes  and  the  Pigmies  those  lines  which 
describe  the  attack  of  the  Pigmy  leader,  who  was  half  an  ell  taller  than  his 
warriors.  See  note  to  81,  1. 

54.  28. — The  mast  of  some  great  ammiral.      Paradise  Lost,  I,  293-4. 

55.  11. — The  unpronounceable  country.     The  country  of  the  Houyhnhnms. 

56.  6. — Mr.  Punch.     The  hero  of  the  "Punch  and  Judy  show."         The  name 
was  adopted  by  the  leading  English    comic    periodical,  to  which  Thackeray 
contributed  articles  and  drawings  early  in  his  literary  career.      See  Introduc- 
tion, p.  15. 

56.  8. —  Yahoos.     The  brute-like  and  degenerate  race  of  men  employed  by 
their  masters,  the  horses,  as  domestic  animals  in  Gulliver's  fourth  voyage. 
This  tale  is  a  bitter  satire  on  the  follies  and  vices  of  the  human  race. 

57.  10. — Delany.     Patrick  Delany  (1685?  -  1768),  Dean  of  Down  in  Ireland, 
and  an  intimate  friend  of  Swift's. 

57.  11. — Archbishop  King  (Born  1650).  Primate  of  Ireland  and  friend  of 
Swift's. 

57.  22. — Dean  Drapier  Bicker  staff  Gulliver.  Isaac  Bickerstaff  was  the  pen- 
name  under  which  Swift  wrote  an  astrological  almanac,  The  Predictions  for 
the  Year  1708,  in  ridicule  of  a  charlatan  astrologer,  John  Partridge.  The 


NOTES  245 

pamphlet  at  once  became  exceedingly  popular.  Steele  used  the  name  again 
in  the  first  few  numbers  of  his  Taller  (1709).  For  the  other  names,  Drapier 
and  Gulliver,  see  notes  to  37,  12  and  37,  13. 

15. — Harley.  Earl  of  Oxford  (1661-1724) ;  a  leading  statesman  of  Swift's 
time  and  a  great  friend  of  the  poet's. 

15. — Peterborough.  Earl  of  Peterborough  (1658-1735) ;  a  leading  statesman 
and  a  friend  of  Pope's. 

14. — Cadenus  and  Vanessa.  Cadenus  is  an  anagram  for  Decanus,  the 
Latin  for  Dean.  Vanessa  Swift  compounded  from  .Esther  Fawhomrigh.  The 
poem  alluded  to  was  written  in  1713,  and  published  after  Miss  Vanhomrigh's 
death.  See  note  to  38,  5. 

22. — //  y  prend  gout.     French  for  "he  acquires  a  taste  for  it." 

31. — Ariadne.  In  Greek  mythology  the  daughter  of  Minos,  King  of  Crete, 
who  assisted  Theseus  to  slay  the  Minotaur.  She  fled  with  the  hero  to  the 
island  of  Naxos,  where  he  deserted  her. 

7. — The  Dean  could  write  beautifully  about  a  broomstick.  An  allusion  to 
Swift's  Meditation  on  a  Broomstick  (1708),  a  parody  on  the  Moral  Meditations 
of  Robert  Boyle. 

5. — Sheridan.  Dr.  Thomas  Sheridan  (1684-1738),  an  Irish  clergyman 
and  schoolmaster,  who  for  years  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Swift's;  Swift 
finally  separated  from  him  in  anger. 

CONGREVE  AND  ADDISON 

2. — The  Reform  Bill.  The  first  Reform  Bill,  passed  in  1832,  removed  some 
of  the  more  glaring  abuses  in  Parliamentary  representation. 

3. — "Union."  The  "Union"  is  still  the  leading  debating  club  of  the 
university,  and  is  now  provided  with  a  very  handsome  building. 

6. — Opposition  and  Government.  By  the  Government  is  meant  the  ministry 
in  power;  by  the  Opposition,  the  party  out  of  power. 

10. — John's Trinity.    Two  well-known  Cambridge  colleges. 

13. — Pitt.  William  Pitt,  the  Younger  (1759-1806);  English  statesman 
and  parliamentary  orator;  Prime  Minister  1783-1806. 

13. — Mirabeau  (1749-1791).  A  French  orator  and  statesman  who  became 
president  of  the  French  National  Assembly  in  1791. 

16. — With  the  family  seat  in  his  pocket.  I.  e.  ready  to  nominate  any  speaker 
of  whom  he  approves  for  a  seat  in  the  House  of  Commons.  Before  the  Reform 
Bill  the  great  nobles  had  what  were  called  "pocket  boroughs,"  i.  e.  constit- 
uencies which  they  controlled. 

19. — Cornwall  ....  Old  Sarum.  Two  of  the  "rotten"  or  "pocket" 
boroughs  which  were  abolished  by  the  Reform  Bill.  The  latter,  which  re* 
turned  two  members  to  Parliament,  did  not  have  a  single  voter  within  its  limits. 

1. — Boxing  the  watch.  Tipping  the  watchman  over  in  his  box,  a  favorite 
amusement  of  the  young  gallants  of  Queen  Anne's  time. 

3. — Christ-church.  One  of  the  most  famous  of  the  colleges  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  Oxford. 


246  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

66.  6. — Prince  Eugene  (1663-1736).  A  renowned  Austrian  general  who  be- 
came very  popular  with  the  English  as  Marlborough's  ally  against  Louis  XIV 
at  the  battle  of  Blenheim  (1704).  He  is  mentioned  by  Addison  in  the  Sir 
Roger  de  Coverley  papers  of  the  Spectator  and  figures  also  in  Thackeray's 
Henry  Esmond. 

66.  11.— Busby.  Richard  Busby  (1605-1695),  the  head-master  of  Westminster 
school,  who  was  so  rigid  a  disciplinarian  that  his  flogging  became  proverbial. 
The  rod  is  here  likened  to  the  staff  of  Aaron,  which  budded  and  brought  forth 
almonds.  (Numbers  XVII,  8). 

66.  14. — Prior,  Matthew  (166*4-1721);  English  poet;  see  Thackeray's  fourth 
lecture. 

66.  14. — Tickell,  Thomas  (1686-1740);  English  poet  and  essayist.  He  is 
best  known  as  a  friend  of  Addison's,  whose  works  he  edited,  and  as  a  contribu- 
tor to  the  Spectator. 

66.          14. — John  Gay.     See  note  to  49,   12. 

66.  14. — John  Dennis  (1657-1734).  A  dramatic  critic  and  satirist  who  was  at 
one  time  highly  respected,  but  who  was  later  satirized  and  ridiculed  by  his 
literary  contemporaries. 

66.          18. — Save  one.     I.  e.  Pope;  see  Thackeray's  fourth  lecture. 

66.          19. — Happy  quarter-day.     I.  e.  a  quarterly  pay-day. 

66.  27. — Mars,  Bacchus,  Apollo.  The  Roman  gods  of  war,  of  wine,  and  of 
poetry  and  music  respectively. 

66.  28.—Marlborough.  John  Churchill,  Duke  of  Marlborough  (1650-1722); 
a  famous  English  general  who  commanded  the  allied  armies  in  Holland  in  the 
War  of  the  Spanish  Succession,  and  won  successively  the  great  battles  of 
Blenheim  (1704),  Ramillies  (1706),  Oudenarde  (1708),  and  Malplaquet  (1709). 
Addison  sings  his  praises  in  The  Campaign,  and  Congreve,  in  a  number  of 
Pindaric  Odes. 

66.  28. — "Accourez,"  etc.  "Hasten,  chaste  nymphs  of  Parnassus.  Note  well 
the  harmony  of  the  tones  which  my  lyre  produces,  and  you,  winds,  hold  silence. 
Of  Louis  I  will  sing."  (Quoted  from  the  first  stanza  of  Boileau's  Ode  sur  la 
prise  de  Namur.) 

66.  29. — Boileau  (1636-1711).  A  French  poet  and  man  of  letters  who  exerted 
a  powerful  influence  on  English  literature  during  the  age  of  Pope.  Addison, 
who  met  him  in  Paris  in  1700,  was  much  affected  by  his  personality  and  power. 

66.  29.— The   Grand   Monarch.      Louis    XIV,    King   of   France    (1638-1715), 
whose  long  reign  was  a  succession  of  brilliant  political  and  literary  achieve- 
ments.    Thackeray  has  caricatured  "Le  Grand   Monarque"  in  a  series  of 
three  drawings;  the  first  represents  "Ludovicus  Rex,"  the  king  in  all  his  regal 
robes;  the  second,  "Rex,"  the  regal  robes  without  the  man;  and  the  third,  , 
"Ludovicus,"  the  man  without  any  emblems  of  his  exalted  rank. 

67.  13. — Pindaric  Odes.     Pindar  (522-443  B.  C.)  was  a  Greek  poet  famous  as  a 
writer  of  choral  poetry.     His  odes  were  written  to  be  sung;  those  of  his  English 
imitators  are  usually  merely  rhymed  poems  of  a  dignified  style. 

67.          14.— Johnson's  Poets.     See  note  to  37,  25. 

67.          14.— Poets'  corner.     This  phrase  was  undoubtedly  borrowed  from  the  name 


NOTES  247 

given  the  corner  in  Westminster  Abbey,  London,  where  many  poets  are  buried 
or  have  monuments. 

19. — Old  Bachelor.  This  popular  play  appeared  in  1693  and  was  acted 
until  1789.  It  was  greatly  praised  by  John  Dryden. 

21. — Charles  Montague  Lord  Halifax  (1661-1715).  English  poet,  satirist, 
and  statesman.  A  patron  of  Addison's. 

25.— Pipe-office.  "The  office  of  the  Clerk  of  the  Pipe  [i.  e.  of  the  enrolled 
accounts  of  crown  officials]  in  the  Exchequer."  (New  English  Diet.). 

30. — "Ah,  r  heureux  temps,"  etc.  "Oh  the  happy  time  when  these  fables 
were  realities." 

2. — Smoked  them.  Found  them  out  and  abolished  them.  There  is,  of 
course,  a  playful  allusion  to  the  word  "Pipe." 

15. — At  the  same  school,  etc.  I.  e.  at  the  school  at  Kilkenny  and  at  Trinity 
College,  Dublin.  See  note  to  36,  20. 

17.— Middle  Temple.     See  note  to  38,   19. 

20. — Piazza.  I.  e.  of  Covent  Garden,  a  famous  market  square  of  London. 
See  note  to  50,  10. 

20. — The  Mall.  A  broad  promenade  on  the  north  side  of  St.  James's  Park, 
London. 

22.— Mr.  Dryden.  John  Dryden  (1631-1700);  a  celebrated  English  poet, 
dramatist,  and  literary  critic;  poet-laureate  1670-1688.  His  translation  of 
Virgil's  Mneid  appeared  in  1697. 

3. — Will's.  A  coffee-house  in  Russell  Street,  London,  made  famous  by  the 
patronage  of  Dryden. 

3. — Pope.  See  Thackeray's  fourth  lecture  and  note  to  47,  32.  Pope's 
translation  of  the  Iliad  appeared  in  1720. 

5. —  Voltaire  (1694-1778).  French  poet,  dramatist,  and  satirist.  He 
visited  England  in  1726  after  an  imprisonment  in  France,  and  remained  there 
for  two  years. 

9. — Grub  Street.  A  street  in  London  which,  during  the  eighteenth  century 
was,  according  to  Samuel  Johnson,  "much  inhabited  by  writers  of  small 
histories,  dictionaries,  and  temporary  poems,  whence  any  mean  production 
is  called  Grub-street." 

9. — Timon.  An  Athenian  misanthrope,  the  hero  of  Shakspere's  Timon  of 
Athens. 

15. — Bracegirdle.  Anne  (1663?  -  1748);  a  famous  English  actress  noted 
for  her  beauty  and  benevolence.  She  attained  her  highest  success  in  Con- 
greve's  plays,  and  has  been  criticized,  although  without  sufficient  grounds,  for 
her  relations  with  him.  Thackeray  calls  her  in  Henry  Esmond  "that  most 
charming  of  actresses  and  lively  and  agreeable  of  women."  (Esmond,  Book  II, 
Chapter  V) . 

26. — Shameless  Comic  Muse.  What  follows  is  a  lively  figurative  picture 
of  the  witty  but  immoral  drama  which  the  patronage  of  Charles  II  and  the 
genius  of  Congreve  helped  to  make  popular,  and  of  the  critical  war  which 
finally  resulted  in  the  overthrow  of  the  "shameless  Comic  Muse"  and  the 
establishment  of  a  cleaner,  if  somewhat  flatter,  class  of  plays. 


248  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

27.— Nell  Gwynn  (1650?  -  1687).  A  famous  English  actress  and  court 
beauty.  In  1669  she  became  the  mistress  of  Charles  II. 

30. — Jeremy  Collier  (1650-1726).  An  English  divine  famous  for  his 
Ecclesiastical  History  of  Great  Britain,  and  for  his  Short  View  of  the  Profane-ness 
and  Immorality  of  the  English  Stage  (1698) ;  this  last  was  an  attack  against  the 
immoral  drama  so  vigorous  that  it  assisted  greatly  in  bringing  about  a  much 
needed  reform. 

31. — Jezebel.  The  wicked  wife  of  Ahab,  King  of  Israel.  (See  I  Kings  18, 
4;  19,  1-2;  21.  II  Kings  9,  30-37).  The  word  came  to  be  used  of  any  wicked, 
shameless  woman,  and  is  here  applied  figuratively  to  Restoration  Comedy. 

7. — From  the  Continent  with  Charles.  At  the  time  of  his  restoration  in  1660 
Charles  II  brought  back  with  him  many  of  the  loose  manners  and  morals  of 
the  French  capital,  where  he  had  spent  much  of  his  time  during  his  exile  from 
England. 

9. — Lais.  The  name  of  two  Greek  courtesans;  the  more  famous  was  born 
in  Corinth  about  180  B.  C. 

15. — Poor  Nell.  A  possible  reminiscence  of  Charles  II 's  dying  reference 
to  his  mistress,  "Don't  let  poor  Nelly  starve." 

18. — When  the  Puritans  hooted  her.  The  Puritans  had  closed  the  doors  of 
the  theatres  in  1642;  after  the  Restoration  in  1660  they  continued  their  attacks 
on  the  stage, — of  course  less  openly. 

28. — Harlequin.     See  note  to  35,    5. 

31. — Pompeii.  An  ancient  Italian  city  which,  with  Herculaneum,  was 
destroyed  by  the  eruption  of  Mount  Vesuvius  in  79  A.  D.  Of  the  remains  of  the 
city  which  modern  excavations  have  uncovered,  Sallust's  House  is  probably 
the  most  perfect. 

8. — We  take  the  skull  up,  etc.  A  reminiscence  of  the  grave  diggers'  scene 
in  Hamlet  (Act  V,  Sc.  I) . 

6. — Gaunt  disciples.     The  Christians. 

8. —  Venus.     Roman  goddess  of  love. 

9. — Bacchus.     Roman  god  of  wine. 

14. — When  the  libertine  hero,  etc.  A  stock  plot  and  characters  of  the 
Restoration  drama. 

16.— The  ballad.  A  lyric  poem  by  Robert  Herrick  (1591-1674),  which 
begins: 

"Gather  ye  rosebuds  while  ye  may, 

Old  time  is  still  a-flying; 
And  this  same  flower  that  smiles  today, 
Tomorrow  will  be  dying." 

19. — Cory  don     ....     Phillis.     Stock   names  in   pastoral   poetry   for 
country  swains  and  maidens. 
24. — Pas.     Step. 

26. — Chalet.     A  little  Swiss  cottage. 
1. — Mr.  Punch.     See  note  to  56,   6. 
17. — Segreto  per  esser  felice.     The  secret  of  being  happy. 
18. — Falernian.     A  celebrated  wine  of  the  ancient  Romans. 


NOTES  249 

31. — Mirabel  or  Belmour.  The  first  is  a  character  in  Congreve's  The  Way 
of  the  World  (1700) ;  the  second  is  from  his  Old  Bachelor  (1693) . 

2. — Scapin  and  Frontin.  Witty,  intriguing  servants, — the  first  from 
Moliere's  Les  Fourberies  de  Scapin\  the  second,  a  stock  character  of  the  old 
French  comedy. 

21. — Millamant.  Mrs.  Millamant  is  a  lady  of  the  high  society  type  in 
Congreve's  The  Way  of  the  World. 

22. — Doricourt.  The  hero  of  The  Belle's  Stratagem,  a  comedy  by  Mrs. 
Hannah  Cowley  (1743-1809). 

4. — Billingsgate.  A  famous  London  fish-market  on  the  north  bank  of  the 
Thames.  From  the  foul  language  used  by  the  fish-wives  the  name  has  come 
to  be  applied  to  foul  language  generally. 

<5 — Horace  (65-8  B.  C.).  The  most  famous  of  Latin  lyric  poets  and  sat- 
irists. Congreve  was  fond  of  translating  and  imitating  him. 

14.— Richelieu,  Cardinal  de  (1585-1642);  Prime  Minister  of  Louis  XIII, 
and  one  of  the  most  celebrated  of  French  statesmen.  He  was  a  brilliant 
writer,  a  patron  of  letters,  and  the  founder  of  the  French  Academy. 

18. — Grammont's  French  dandies Lerida.     Philibert,  Count 

de  Gramont  (1621-1707)  was  an  unprincipled  soldier  and  courtier  who  spent 
a  great  deal  of  his  time  at  the  dissolute  court  of  Charles  II  of  England.  He 
took  part  in  1647  in  the  siege  of  Lerida,  the  capital  of  the  province  of 
Lerida  in  Spain. 

21. — Wells  at  Tunbridge.  Tunbridge  Wells,  a  fashionable  watering  place 
about  thirty  miles  southeast  of  London.  The  stanza  which  follows  is  from 
a  poem  Written  at  Tunbridge  Wells,  on  Miss  Temple,  afterwards  Lady  of  Sir 
Thomas  Lyttelton. 

'        6. — "As  bold  as  his  who  snatched  celestial  fire."    Prometheus;  see  note  to 
51,    18. 

2. — Pas.     The  precedence. 

6. — Louis  Quatorze.  Louis  XIV  of  France,  called  The  Grand  Monarch; 
see  note  to  66,  29. 

8. — Spring  Garden.     A  famous  old  resort  in  St.  James's  Park,   London. 

23. — We  come  now  to  a  humor,  etc.  In  connection  with  this  lecture  on  Ad- 
dison  should  be  read  the  chapter  in  Henry  Esmond  (Book  II,  Chapter  XI) 
entitled  The  famous  Mr.  Joseph  Addison. 

30. — Famous  article  in  the  Edinburgh  Review.  A  reference  to  Macaulay's 
Essay  on  Addison,  which  appeared  in  1843,  just  eight  years  before  Thackeray's 
lecture  on  Addison. 

31. — Goethe.     See  note  to  51,  21. 

6. — Brought  their  star  and  ribbon  into  discredit.  I.  e.  granted  their  favors  too 
indiscriminately.  The  star  and  ribbon  were  emblems  of  high  rank. 

11. — Mr.  Pinkethman.  An  actor  alluded  to  in  the  fourth  number  of  the 
Taller  and  in  numbers  31,  370,  and  502  of  the  Spectator. 

12. — Mr.  Doggett.  Thomas  Doggett  (died  1721);  a  popular  comic  actor 
who  is  several  times  alluded  to  in  the  Spectator. 

14. — Don  Saltero.  John  Salter,  a  popular  coffee-house  keeper  and  owner 
of  a  museum  of  curiosities,  who  is  referred  to  by  Steele  in  No.  34  of  the  Tatler. 


250  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

80.  2S.—Tye-wig full  bottom.  The  first,  a  wig  tied  at  the  back 

and  thus  brought  to  a  point;  the  second,  one  which  is  allowed  to  flow  over  the 
shoulders. 

80.  28. — Salisbury,  or  New  Sarum;  in  Wiltshire,  England,  eighty  miles  south- 
west of  London. 

80.  29. — Charterhouse.      A    famous    school     and     charitable    foundation     in 
London.     The  site  was  originally  occupied  by  a  Carthusian  convent;     after 
the  dissolution  of  the  religious  houses  by  Henry  VIII,  the  place  was  ultimately 
bought  by  Thomas  Sutton,   who  endowed   the  present  foundation.     Many 
famous  Englishmen,  including  Thackeray  himself,  studied  at  Charterhouse. 

81.  1. — The  Pigmies  and  the  Cranes.     Addison's  story  in  Latin  verse  of  the 
annual  battle  between  the  Cranes  and  the  Pigmies,   a  nation  of  dwarfs  who 
lived,  according  to  ancient  mythology,  on  the  banks  of  the  Upper  Nile.    See 
note  to  54,  25. 

81.  6. — Lyaus.  "A  surname  of  Bacchus;  hence  used  for  Wine":  (New  English 
Diet.) . 

81.  7.— The  Peace  of  Ryswick,  in  1697,  marked  the  close  of  the  so-called  War  of 
the  Palatinate  between  Louis  XIV  of  France  and  an  alliance  of  other  Euro- 
pean states. 

82.  2. — Congees.     Ceremonious  farewells. 

82.  26. — Wyche.  The  letter  alluded  to  was  addressed  "To  Mr.  Wyche,  His 
Majesty's  Resident  at  Hambourg,  May,  1703." 

82.  27. — "Hoc."     "Hock The  wine  called   in   German  Hoch- 

heimer,    produced   at   Hochheim   on   the    Main     .     .     .     ."     (New    English 
Diet.) . 

83.  1. — Swift  describes  him.     There  are  numerous  allusions  to  this  friendship 
between  Addison  and  Swift  in  the  latter's  Journal  to  Stella. 

83.          IS.—Statius  (45-96  A.  D.).     A  Roman  poet,  part  of  whose  Thebais  was 

translated  by  Pope. 
83.          17. — Haymarket.     A  London  street,  which  was  used  from  1664  to  1831  as 

a  hay-market. 

83.          21.— Blenheim.      Fought    August    13,    1704.     In    this    battle    the    Duke 
defeated  the  French  and  Bavarians  under    Marshal   Tallard.      For   a   lively 
account  of  the  engagement  see  Henry  Esmond,  Book  II,  Chapter  I  X. 
83.          23. — Lord  Treasurer  Godolphin  (c.  1635-1712) .      A  favorite  with  Charles  II, 

James  II,  and  William.     He  was  dismissed  under  Queen  Anne  in  1710. 
85.          2. —  King  of  the  Romans.      Joseph  I  of  Austria,  who  was  styled  King  of  the 

Holy  Roman  Empire. 

85.  28. — The  Coffee-house  Senate.  Addison's  friends  at  Button's  coffee-house. 
Pope  gives  the  following  account  of  Addison's  manner  of  living: 

"Addison  usually  studied  all  the  morning;  then  met 
his  party  at  Button's;  dined  there,  and  stayed  five  or  six 
hours,  and  sometimes  far  into  the  night.  I  was  of  the 
company  for  about  a  year,  but  found  it  too  much  for  me; 
it  hurt  my  health,  and  so  I  quitted  it." — Pope:  S pence's 
Anecdotes. 


NOTES  251 

28. — Divus.  I.  e.  as  divine.  This  was  the  title  which  the  Roman  senate 
gave  to  some  of  the  emperors. 

5. — Fulham.     On  the  Thames,  five  miles  southwest  of  St.  Paul's  in  London. 
9. — Splendid  but  dismal  union.     In  Esmond  (Book  II,  Chapter  XI)  Thack- 
eray calls  the  countess  "a  shrew  and  a  vixen." 

14. — Examiner  ....  Guardian  ....  Taller.  .  .  Spectator. 
The  titles  of  the  well-known  periodicals  to  which  Addison  contributed. 

23.— Jeffreys  (1648-1689).  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  England  in  1683.  He 
was  noted  for  his  cruelty,  particularly  in  "The  Bloody  Assizes"  which  followed 
the  unhappy  uprising  of  the  Duke  of  Monmouth  against  James  II  in  1685. 

30. — Breaking  Priscian's  head.  Priscian  was  a  celebrated  Latin  gram- 
marian of  the  fifth  century  A.  D.  To  break  Priscian's  head  means  to  make 
bad  mistakes  in  Latin  grammar. 

5. — Addison  wrote  his  papers  .  .  .  gayly.  Of  this  ease  of  composition 
Pope  says: 

"Mr.  Addison  wrote  very  fluently;  but  he  was  some- 
times very  slow  and  scrupulous  in  correcting.  He  would 
show  his  verses  to  several  friends;  and  would  alter  almost 
everything  that  any  of  them  hinted  at  as  wrong.  He 
seemed  to  be  too  diffident  of  himself;  and  too  much  con- 
cerned about  his  character  as  a  poet;  or  (as  he  worded  it) 
too  solicitous  for  that  kind  of  praise  which,  God  knows, 
is  a  very  little  matter  after  all." — Pope:  Spence's  Anec- 
dotes. 

1. — Grecian.  A  coffee-house  in  the  Strand,  London,  much  frequented  by 
the  literary  men  of  the  early  eighteenth  century. 

1. — The  Devil.  A  famous  old  London  tavern,  which  had  been  popular 
with  literary  men  since  the  reign  of  James  I. 

1. — 'Change.     The  court  around  which  the  London  Exchange  was  built. 
7. — To  damn,  .with  faint  praise.     A  line  from   Pope's  famous   verses  on 
Addison  in  his  Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot,  quoted  on  pp.  147-8. 

13. — Sir  Roger  de  Coverley.  A  country  gentleman;  the  most  famous  of  the 
characters  wljich  Addison  developed  in  the  Spectator  papers. 

17. — A  propos  de  bottes.  "Concerning  flasks;"  i.  e.  not  to  the  point.  Addi- 
son's  account  of  Sir  Roger's  speech  follow: 

"The  speech  he  made  was  so  little  to  the  purpose  that 
I  shall  not  trouble  my  readers  with  an  account  of  it; 
and  I  believe  was  not  so  much  designed  by  the  knight 
himself  to  inform  the  Court,  as  to  give  him  a  figure  in  my 
eyes,  and  to  keep  up  his  credit  in  the  country."  Spec- 
tator, No.  122. 

89  c  19. — Doll  Tear  sheet.  A  woman  of  the  streets  in  Shakspere's  King 
Henry  IV,  Part  II.  An  allusion  here  to  Spectator,  No.  410,  by  Steele. 

89.  20. — Temple  Garden.  The  garden  surrounding  the  Temple  in  London. 
See  note  to  38,  19. 


252  ENGLISH  HUMORIST3 

89.  22. — Game-preserver.     The   interest   taken   by   country   gentlemen   in   the 
preservation  of  game  on  their  estates  has  often  been  the  subject  for  satire. 

90.  14. — "Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail."      Written  for  the  Spectator  for 
August  23,  1712  (No.  465),  and  widely  known  as  a  hymn.     The  first  stanza  is 
not  quoted. 

STEELE 

92.  21. — Swift's  History.  Swift's  The  History  of  the  last  four  years  of  Queen 
Anne,  in  four  volumes,  was  not  published  until  1758.  Swift  regarded  this  as 
his  greatest  work,  and  took  great  care  with  its  composition. 

92.  25. — Walpole.     Sir  Robert,  Earl  of  Orford  (1676-1745) ;  English  statesman; 
Prime   Minister  from   1715   to    1717  and   from  1721  to  1742.     Although,  to 
accomplish  great  diplomatic  ends,  he  resorted  to  open  bribery,  he  successfully 
carried  out  his  policies   of  maintaining   peace  in    England,  and  of  creating  a 
sound  financial  system. 

93.  3. — The  Pretender.      James  Stuart,  son  of  James  II  of  England,  who  claimed 
the  throne  after  the  death  of  his  father  in  1701 .     He  was  born  in  1688  and  died 
in  Rome  in  1766.     He  was  called  the  "Old  Pretender"  to  distinguish  him  from 
his  son,  Charles  Edward,  "The  Young  Pretender." 

93.          4. — Copious  archdeacon.     William   Coxe    (1747-1828),   whose   Memoirs  of 

John,  Duke  of  Marlborough,  etc.  (3  volumes)  appeared  in  1818-9. 
93.          14. — Churchill.     Surname  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough. 
93.          17. — Mnemosyne.     In  Greek  mythology,   mother  of  the  nine  Muses  and 

goddess  of  memory. 

93.  23. — Turpin.  Richard,  or  Dick  Turpin  was  a  notorious  highwayman  and 
chief  of  a  band  of  robbers.  He  was  finally  captured  and  executed  at  York — 
not  at  Newgate — in  1739. 

93.  23. — His  dying  speech.  When  the  body  of  an  eighteenth  century  criminal 
was  scarce  cold,  the  streets  were  filled  with  men  and  women  selling  pretended 
confessions  of  the  outlaw  and  ballad  stories  of  his  deeds. 

93.  23. — Newgate.  A  prison  in  London  near  the  end  of  Newgate  Street.  It 
was  partially  burned  in  1780  at  the  time  of  the  Lord  Gordon  uprising,  an  ac- 
count of  which  is  given  in  Dickens's  Barnaby  Rudge,  but  was  rebuilt  two  years 
later. 

27. — Take  the  side  of  the  Dons.  I.  e.  side  with  the  "loose  characters"  like 
Don  Juan,  the  libertine  hero  of  Byron's  poem  of  that  name. 

4._ Doctor  Smollett  (1721-1771).  An  English  novelist.  See  Thackeray's 
fifth  lecture. 

22. — Eton.  This  famous  English  school  on  the  bank  of  the  Thames  twenty- 
one  miles  from  London,  was  founded  in  1440  by  Henry  VI.  A  large  number 
of  great  Englishmen  have  studied  here. 

23. — Will  Wimble.  A  somewhat  eccentric  character  in  the  Sir  Roger  de 
Coverley  papers  of  the  Spectator. 

26. — Bath.  An  English  health  resort  in  Somersetshire  about  ninety  miles 
from  London. 

v 


NOTES  253 

4.  29. — Captain  Macheaih.  See  note  to  39,  31.  Here  the  name  is  used  for 
highwaymen  in  general. 

4.  31. — Boniface.     A  stock  name  for  an  innkeeper. 

5.  4. — Exeter  Fly.     The  name  of  the  stage-coach  which  made  the  run  from 
London  to  Exeter,  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  southwest  of  London. 

5.  10. — Ramillies  .  .  Malplaquet.  See  note  to  Marlborough,  66,  28.  Thack- 
eray gives  an  account  of  these  famous  battles  in  Henry  Esmond,  Book  II, 
Chapter  XII,  and  Book  III,  Chapter  I. 

5.  31. — Staines.     A  town  in  Middlesex,  England,  about  nineteen  miles  south- 
west of  London. 

6.  5. — Cor  am  latronibus.     In  the  presence  of  robbers. 

6.  9. — A  nosegay  in  his  hand carriage  without  springs.  Con- 
demned prisoners  on  their  way  to  the  gallows  carried  nosegays.  The  carriage 

here  alluded  to  is,  of  course,  the  cart  in  which  the  prisoner  rode. 

13. — Tyburn  was  previous  to  1783  the  great  place  of  public  execution  for 

Middlesex.     The  site  is  just  north  of  the  Marble  Arch,  the  northeast  entrance 

to  Hyde  Park. 
6.          22. — Swift  laughed  at  him.     At  the  end  of  Chapter  III  of  his  Directions  to 

Servants.  • 

23. — Holland.     Coarse,  unbleached  linen  goods. 

11.     Lord   Mohun    (1675-1712).     A  desperate  and  unprincipled  nobleman 

who  killed  several  men  in  duels.     He  appears  as  a  prominent  character  in 

Henry  Esmond. 
YJ.          17. — Mrs.  Bracegirdle.     See  note  to  69,    15.     The  title  Mrs.  was  applied 

at  this  time  to  unmarried  as  well  as  to  married  women. 

23. — Drury  Lane.     A  London  street  running  northwest  from  the  Strand; 

famous  for  its  theater,  which  was  first  opened  in  1663. 
9.          1. — Leicester  Fields.     Now  Leicester  Square;  in   Queen  Anne's  time  the 

open  fields  outside  the  city  proper  where  duels  were  frequently  fought. 

15. — Turning  the  edge  from  him,  etc.     An  indication  that  the  prisoner  at 

the  bar  had  not  yet  been  found  guilty.     After  the  court  had  found  the  accused 

guilty,  the  edge  of  the  axe  was  turned  toward  him. 

30. — Bagnio  in  Long  Acre.      Long  Acre    runs  into  Drury  Lane  from  the 

west  and  is  not  far  from  Leicester  Square.      The  Bagnio  was  a  bath-house 

usually  kept  by  a  surgeon.     In  Henry  Esmond  (Book  I,  Chapter   XIV)   the 

Viscount  Castlewood  is  carried  after  his  fatal  duel  with  Lord  Mohun  "to  one 

Mr.  Aimes,  a  surgeon,  in  Long  Acre,  who  kept  a  bath."     Later  in  the  same 

chapter  the  place  is  alluded  to  specifically  as  a  "bagnio." 
00.          IS.—Waverley    novels.     The   first   of    these    novels    by    Scott,    Waverley, 

appeared  in  1814. 
00.          20. — Miss   Porters.     The  two  sisters,    Anna   Maria   Porter    (1780-1832), 

and  Jane  Porter   (1776-1850),   were  novelists.      Thaddeus  of  Warsaw   (1803) 

and  Scottish  Chiefs  (1809)  by  Jane  Porter  are  still  read. 
»0.          20. — Anne  of  Swansea.     The  pen-name  of  Anne  Hatton,  a  sister  of  the 

famous  actress,  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  the  equally  famous  actor,  John  Kemble. 

She  wrote  in  the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth  century  a  series  of  long  novels 

which  have  now  been  entirely  forgotten. 


254  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

100.  21. — Mrs.  Raddiffe  (1764-1823).  A  writer  of  stories  of  mystery  and  ad- 
venture, of  which  the  most  famous  is  The  Mysteries  of  Udolpho  (1794) . 

100.  25. — Mrs.  Manley  (1663  -  1724).  A  writer  of  novels,  plays,  and  satires, 
who  was  associated  to  some  extent  in  her  literary  work  with  Swift.  Because 
of  the  scandal  in  her  principal  work,  The  New  Atalanlis,  she  was  arrested. 
The  adjective  "delectable"  is  used  ironically. 

100.  27. — Tom  Durfey.  Thomas  D'Urfey  (1653-1723);  a  writer  of  plays  and 
verse.  His  best  known  work  is  a  collection  of  coarse  ballads  entitled  Pills  to 
Purge  Melancholy. 

100.          27. — Tom  Brown  (1663-1704).     A  dissipated  writer  of  coarse  satires. 

100.  27. — Ned  Ward  (c. 1660-1731).  An  inn-keeper  and  writer  of  witty  but 
coarse  sketches.  The  London  Spy  appeared  1698-1700. 

102.          1. — Q.     Stands  for  querist. 

102.  27. — Lille.  The  capital  of  French  Flanders,  captured  by  Prince  Eugene 
and  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  in  1708.  Thackeray  gives  an  account  of  this 
famous  siege  in  Henry  Esmond,  Book  II,  Chapter  XIV. 

102.  28.— Mr.  Hill.     Aaron  Hill  (1685-1750),  a  writer  of  tragedies  and  operas. 

103.  4.— Boyne.     See  note  to  40,    20. 

103.          8. — Charterhouse.     See  note  to  80,    29. 

103.  10. — James,  Duke    of  Ormond    (1665-1745).      A   Tory    Irish   statesman. 
Steele's  uncle,  Henry  Gascoigne,  acted  as  his  private  secretary. 

104.  9. — Merlon.  An  Oxford  College  founded  in  1264  by  the  Bishop  of  Rochester. 
104.          16. — "  Tender  Husband"     .     .     "Conscious  Lovers."     Two  comedies  by 

Steele;  the  first  appeared  in  1705;  the  second,  in  1722. 

104.  26. — Head  boy.     Dickens  alludes  similarly  through  the  mouth  of  David 
Copperfield  (Chapter  XVIII)  to  the  head  boy  as  "a  mighty  creature,  dwelling 
afar  off,  whose  giddy  height  is  unattainable." 

105.  10. — Gownboy.     A  scholar.     The  boys  on  the  foundation,  or  endowment, 
at   Charterhouse  charity  school  wore  gowns. 

105.  17. — Fagged.  I.  e.  performed  menial  service.  In  some  of  the  old  English 
schools  the  junior  students  were  forced  to  wait  on  the  upperclassmen.  A 
lively  account  of  this  fagging  system  may  be  found  in  Hughes's  Tom  Brown's 
School  Days  (1856) . 

107.  1. — Garraway's.  A  famous  coffee-house  in  Exchange  Alley,  Cornhill, 
London. 

107.         6. — The  Rose.     A  tavern  in  Russell  street,  Co  vent  Garden,  London. 

107.          7. — Sir  Plume  and  Mr.  Diver.     Fictitious  names  for  men  about  town. 

107.          15.—Haymarket.     See  note  to  83,    17. 

107.  17. — Classical  friend  of  Charterhouse  Cloister  and  Maudlin  Walk.     Addison, 
whose  favorite  walk  at  Magdalen  (pronounced  Maudlin)   College,  Oxford,  is 
now  called  "Addison's  Walk." 

108.  3.— Immortal  William.     King  William  III  of  England. 

108.  20. — The  "Lying  Lover,"  or  The  Ladies'  Friendship,  was  a  weak  moral 
comedy,  which  Steele  declared  in  his  Apology  (1714)  to  have  been  "damned  for 
its  Piety." 

109.  13. — The  accession  of  George  I.      George  I,  who  came  to  the  throne  at  the 


NOTES  255 

death  of  Anne  in  1714,  was  supported  by  Steele,  whereas  Bolingbroke  and 
Swift  were  Tories  and  hence  of  the  Opposition. 

5. — Of  one  woman.  The  allusion  is  to  Lady  Elizabeth  Hastings;  the 
quotation,  from  Taller  No.  49.  Thackeray  quotes  again  from  this  number  in 
Esmond,  Book  II,  Chapter  XV. 

28.— Walpole.  Horace,  Earl  of  Orford  (1717-1797) ;  an  English  politician 
and  author,  best  known  by  his  Letters  and  by  his  romance,  The  Castle  of  Otranto. 

3.  6. — Hampton.     A  village  fourteen  miles  southwest  of  London. 

5.  8. — Chancery  Lane.  A  street  off  Fleet  Street,  where  the  law-courts  are 
situated.  Steele's  allies  are,  of  course,  bailiffs. 

5.  10. — Dr.  Hoadly   (1711-1776).     Son  of  Bishop  Benjamin  Hoadly.     The 
quotation  is  from  John   Nichols'   Epistolary  Correspondence  of  Sir   Richard 
Steele  (Lond.  1809)   vol.  II.  p.  508,  note. 

6.  2. — Mr.  Joseph  Miller  (1684-1738).     An  actor  who  became  known  as  the 
reputed  author  of  Joe  Miller's  Jests,  a  compilation  of  jokes  which  appeared  a 
year  after  his  death. 

6.         28. — Gownsmen.     University  men. 

6.  31. — Sponging-houses.     Bailiffs'  houses,  where  debtors  were  temporarily 
detained  until  they  either  settled  with  their  creditors  or  were  taken  to  jail. 

7.  17. — Damn  with  faint  praise.     An  allusion  to  Addison;  see  note  to  89,    7. 

7.  26. — Terrible,  lines  of  Swift.      From  Swift's  The  Day  of  Judgment,  found 
among  his  Mss.  after  his  death,  and  sent  by  Lord  Chesterfield  to  Voltaire  in  a 
letter  dated  August  27,  1752. 

8.  13. — Bit.     Hoaxed;  cheated;  in  modern  slang,  "stung." 

9.  14.— In  the  Taller.     Taller  No.  181.     Thackeray  has  quoted  this  story 
again,  almost  in  Steele's  words,  in  Henry  Esmond,  Book  I,  Chapter  VI. 

1.  7. — Love  their  love  with  an  A.     An  old  game  in  which  the  players  are  suc- 
cessively called  upon  to  supply  impromptu,  under  penalty  of  a  forfeit,  quali- 
fying words  beginning  with  a  given  letter. 

2.  5. — Lord  Sparkish,  etc.     Characters  in  Swift's  Polite  Conversation  (written 
1731;  published  1738). 

2.  11. — Barmecide's.  A  story  from  the  Arabian  Nights  of  a  rich  prince  who 
in  jest  seated  a  hungry  beggar  at  a  table  which  contained  only  empty  dishes. 
Hence,  a  Barmecide  meal  is  an  imaginary  one. 

4.  20. — Dead  men empty  bottles.     The  expression  occurs  in 

this  sense  in  an  old  drinking  song,  Down  among  the  Dead  Men,  written  early 
in  the  eighteenth  century  and  still  popular. 

5.  9. — Beignets  d'  abricot.     Apricot  fritters. 
10. — Du  monde!     In  good  society. 

14. — White's  Chocolate  House.     A  club  established  in  1698  in  a  chocolate- 
house  in  St.  James's  Street;  much  frequented  by  literary  men. 
5.          30. — Tipperary.     A  county  in  the  province  of  Munster,  Ireland. 
5.          33. — Cain.     See  Genesis,  4,    15:     "And  the  Lord  set  a  mark  upon  Cain, 
lest  any  finding  him  should  kill  him." 

27. — Let  us  think  gently,  etc.  To  this  picture  of  Steele  add  that  which 
Thackeray 'has  given  us  in  Henry  Esmond,  especially  in  Book  II,  Chapter  XV. 


256  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 


PRIOR,  GAY,  AND  POPE 

128.         7.— Horace.     See  note  to  75,    6. 

128.          9. — Spielhaus.     A  gaming  resort. 

128.          12. — Epicurean  master.     I.  e.  Horace;  see  note  to  44,    7. 

128.          13. — Batavian  Chloe.     Dutch  sweet-heart. 

128.          14. — Whitehall.     The  street  in  London  in  which  stood  the  famous  royal 

palace  where  Charles  I  was  executed. 
128.          14. — Busby  of  the  Rod.     See  note  to  66,    11. 

128.  19. — The  Hind  and  the  Panther.     A  satirical  allegory  written  in  defence 
of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  after  the  accession  of  James  II. 

129.  7. — Alcaics.     Alcaeus  was  a  Greek  lyric  poet  who  flourished  in  the  sixth 
century  B.  C.     He  was  the  originator  of  the  peculiar  form  of  metre  which 
bears  his  name. 

129.  15. —  Versailles.     A  suburb  of  Paris,  where  the  royal  palace  built  by  Louis 
XVI  is  situated. 

130.  5. — Mahomet's  coffin.     An  allusion  to   the  tradition  that  the  coffin  of 
Mahomet   (570-632),   the    founder  of    Mohammedanism,   was    suspended   in 
mid-air. 

130.  15.— Oxford,  Robert  Harley,  Earl  of  (1661-1724);  an  English  Tory 
statesman  and  a  patron  of  literary  men. 

130.  18.— Spence,    Joseph    (1699-1768);     an    English    ecclesiastic;    author    of 
Anecdotes    (published    1820),    which   contains   stories   of   famous    eighteenth 
century  characters  with  whom  Spence  was  acquainted. 

131.  3. — Owner  of  the  Sabine  farm.     Horace,   who  alluded  frequently  in  his 
lyrics  to  his  farm  in  the  Sabine  mountains. 

131.  4. —  Verses  addressed  to  Halifax.  For  Halifax  see  note  to  67,  21.  The 
poem  in  which  these  verses  occur  is  entitled  To  the  Honourable  Charles  Mon- 
tague. The  first  of  the  two  stanzas  appeared  in  a  variation  of  the  original 
printed  1692  (Mitford's  edition,  v.  1,  p.  48).  Thackeray  has  not  quoted  the 
verses  correctly;  the  most  considerable  change  from  the  original  which  he  has 
made  is  to  transpose  the  position  of  the  last  two  verses  of  each  stanza;  in  the 
original  the  rhyme  scheme  for  both  stanzas  is  abab.  Thackeray's  phraseology 
is,  moreover,  considerably  different. 

131.          21. — Thetis.     In  Greek  mythology  a  sea-goddess,  the  mother  of  Achilles. 

131.          27. — Lydia.     A  girl  who  appears  in  many  of  Horace's  lyrics. 

131.  30. — Thomas  Moore    (1779-1852).     An   Irish  poet,   famous  for  his  Irish 
Melodies  and  for  his  poem,  Lalla  Rookh. 

132.  4. — "She  sighed,  she  smiled."     The  last  four  stanzas  from  The  Garland. 
132.          21. — "Deus  sit  propitius  huic  potatori."     "May  the  Lord  be  merciful  to 

this  drinker." 

132.  22. — Walter  de  Mapes  (c  1150-c  1196).  A  poet,  satirist,  churchman,  and 
politician,  who  is  supposed  by  some  critics  to  have  composed  many  of  the 
legends  of  King  Arthur.  The  line  quoted  is  from  a  Latin  poem  ascribed  to 
Mapes  which  was  afterwards  used  as  a  drinking  song. 


NOTES  257 

33.         4. — Craggs.     James    Craggs,    the   Younger    (1686-1721);    politician   and 

friend  of  Addison's. 
.33.         4. — South  Sea  Stock.     See  note  to  40,    26. 
.33.         20. — Brobdingnag.     See  note  to  54,    11. 
33.         31. — Don  Quixote.     The  hero  of  the  famous  Spanish  satiric  romance  by 

Cervantes  (1547-1616).     Sancho;  Don  Quixote's  squire. 
:34.         26. — Cheapside.     An  old  street  in  London,  originally  the  chepe,  or  market 

place. 
.          17.— Mr.  Gay's  "Fables."    Written  in  1727  and  dedicated  "To  his  Highness 

William,  Duke  of  Cumberland,"  etc.     William  Augustus  (1721-1765),  Duke 

of  Cumberland,  was  the  third  son  of  George  II.     The  adjective  "amiable"  is, 

of  course,  ironic. 
135.         19. — Dettingen.     At  Dettingen,  in  Bavaria,  on  June  27,  1734,  George  II  of 

England,  commanding  an  allied  army,  defeated  a  larger  French  force. 
35.         19. — Culloden.     The  Duke  of  Cumberland  defeated  the  Young  Pretender, 

Charles  Stuart,  at  Culloden  in  Scotland,  April  16,  1746. 

35.  30. — Minikin.      "(Archaic).      Of  small  size  or  delicate  form."       (Standard 
Diet.). 

36.  4. — Bird-organ.     "A  small  barrel-organ  for  teaching  birds  to  sing."     (Stan- 
dard Diet.) . 

36.         9.— Naples.     Olive-oil. 

36.         10. — Bergamot.     Oil  from  the  orange  tree;  used  as  perfumery. 

36.  11. — Philips,  Ambrose  (1671-1749);  a  writer  of  pastorals.  The  nick- 
name "Namby-pamby,"  which  his  contemporaries  applied  to  him,  has  come  to  be 
synonymous  of  anything  weakly  sentimental  and  insipid. 

36.  19. — Savoyard.  From  Savoy,  an  European  country  on  the  borders  of 
France  and  Italy. 

36.  27.—Arbuthnot,  John  (1667-1735) ;  a  Scottish  physician  and  writer  resident 
in  London. 

37.  1. — Rubini  (1795-1854).     A  famous  Italian  tenor,  who  appeared  frequently 
in  London. 

37.         1. — "  Qu'il  avail"  etc.     "That  he  had  tears  in  his  voice." 

37.  4. — In  the  "Beggar's  Opera"  and  in  its  wearisome  continuation.    The  Beggar's 
Opera   (1728)   was  immensely  popular;  its  continuation,   Polly,  was  so  thinly 
veiled  in  its  satire  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain  ordered  its  withdrawal  from  the 
stage;  nevertheless,  its  sale  brought  Gay  a  good  sum. 

38.  18. — Great  Mr.  Pope thought  proper  to  steal  it.     A  look  into 

Pope's  correspondence  (edited  by  Bowles  [1806J  vol.  8,  pp.  185-191  and  427-432; 
or  by  Elwin  and  Courthope  [1871-89]  vol.  10,  pp.  396-400)  will  show  that  Pope 
did  not  actually  steal  this  story  from  Gay.     In  the  Correspondence  three  versions 
of  the  tale  will  be  found, — the  first  in  a  letter  from  Pope  to  Miss  Blount,  August 
6,  1718;  the  second  in  a  letter  from  Gay  to  Fortescue,  August  9,  1718 — three 
days  later,  it  will  be  observed,  than  the  first — ;  and  the  third  in  a  letter  from  Pope 
to  Lady  Montague,  September   1,    1718.     The  first  two   accounts  are  alike; 
the  third,  the  one   which   Thackeray   quotes,    varies   slightly   in    phraseology. 
Thackeray  was  evidently  unaware  that   Pope's  first  letter  preceded   Gay's. 


258  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

138.  27.—  The  "Dundad."  The  famous  satirical  poem  (1728)  which  Pope 
directed  against  his  literary  enemies. 

138.          28. — The  "Rape  of  the  Lock."     A  long  mock-heroic  poem  written  in  1712. 

140.  1. — Ariosto  (1474-1533).  An  Italian  poet;  author  of  the  great  epic  poem, 
Orlando  Furioso  (1516). 

140.  2. — The  Cid.  The  national  hero  of  Spain,  who  lived  in  the  eleventh  century. 
He  is  the  chief  figure  in  Spanish  ballad  literature,  and  appears  in  the  famous 
tragi-comedy,  Le  Cid  (1636),  of  the  French  dramatist,  Corneille,  as  the  gallant 
and  war-like  lover  of  Chimene,  daughter  of  Don  Gomez,  the  enemy  of  the  Cid.  A 

140.  3. — Armida.  A  sorceress  in  the  epic  poem,  Jerusalem  Delivered,  of  the 
Italian  poet  Tasso  (1544-1595).  She  had  an  enchanted  garden,  wherein  she 
detained  Rinaldo  and  other  Christian  warriors  and  lulled  them  into  forgetting 
their  vows,  very  much  as  Calypso  detained  Ulysses,  the  hero  of  the  Odyssey,  on 
the  island  of  Ogygia. 

140.  25. — Mr.    Curll.     Edmund    Curll    (1675-1747) ;    an    unscrupulous    London 
bookseller,  who  was   included  in  the    Dundad  after  a  quarrel   with  its  author. 
Thackeray's  allusion  to  him  as  "the  congenial  Mr.  Curll"  is  characteristically 
ironic. 

141.  16. — A  deux  fins.     For  two  ends,  or  purposes. 

141.         IS.— Rechauffe.     Warmed  over;  but  see  note  to  138,    18. 

141.  25—Apprete.     Touched  up. 

142.  2. — Peterborough.     See  note  to  61,    15. 

142.  8. — Cachet;     "A  seal;  hence,  a  distinctive  mark;  stamp  of  individuality.' 
(Standard  Diet.) . 

143.  3. — White's.     White's  Chocolate  House;  see  note  to  125,    14. 

143.         4. — "The  Patriot  King."     A  pamphlet  by  Bolingbroke  written  in  1738. 

143.  8. — Barcelona.     This  Spanish  city  was  captured  by  Peterborough  in  1705. 

144.  ll.—Budgell,  Tickell,  Philips,  Carey.     Eustace  Budgell  (1686-1737)   was  a 
minor  poet  and  contributor  to  the  Spectator.     For  Tickell  see  note  to  66,     14. 
For  Philips  see  note  to  136,    11.     Henry  Carey  (died  1743)  was  a  minor  poet  anc 
musical  composer,  best  known  for  his  ballad,  Sally  in  our  Alley. 

144.  19. — Duroc,  Gerard,  Duke  of  Friuli  (1772-1813);  a  favorite  general  of 
Napoleon's,  killed  on  the  retreat  from  Bautzen. 

144.  19. — Hardy,  Sir  Thomas  (1769-1839)  was  with  Nelson  at  the  great  admi- 
ral's death  at  Trafalgar  in  1805. 

144.  24. — Spadille  and  manille.  In  the  old  Spanish  card  games  of  ombre  anc 
quadrille,  respectively  the  ace  of  spades  and  the  next  to  the  highest  card  in  the 
deck.  The  popular  eighteenth  century  game  of  ombre  is  alluded  to  in  the  Rape 
of  the  Lock. 

144.  26. — Pope  formed  part  of  King  Joseph's  court.     King  Joseph  is,  of  course, 
Joseph  Addison.     See  the  quotation  from  Spence's  Anecdotes  in  the  note  to  85,  28. 

145.  3.— Wycherley,  William  (1640?-1715) ;  an  English  dramatist. 

145.  31. — The  best  satire.     The  satire  on  Addison  from  Pope's  Epistle  to  Dr 
Arbuthnot,  quoted  on  p.  147. 

146.  16. — Bernadotte   (1764-1844).      At  one  time  made  marshal  of  France  bj 
Napoleon,  he  later  fought  against  the  Emperor.     He  had  been  elected  by  th< 


NOTES  259 

Swedish  Diet  heir  to  the  throne,  and   in  1818  at  the  death  of  Charles  XIII  he 

became  Charles  XIV. 
:8.         21. — Saint  Sebastian.     A  Roman  soldier  who  suffered  martyrdom   in  the 

fourth  century  for  professing  Christianity.     He  is  represented  in  art  as  bound  to 

a  tree  and  pierced  with  arrows. 
:8.         25. — How  a  Christian  could  die.     Addison's  dying  words'to  his  stepson  were, 

"See  how  a  Christian  dies." 
•8.         32. — Godolphin.     See  note  to  83,    23. 
19.         11. — Thomson,  James  (1700-1748);  author  of  The  Seasons,  a    poem    which 

had  considerable  influence. 
»:9.         20. — Twickenham.     A  London  suburb  to  which  Pope  retired  in  1718.     The 

name  appears  in  one  of  the  titles  by  which  he  was  known  among  his  literary 

opponents,  "The  Wicked  Wasp  of  Twickenham." 

t9.  24.— Atterbury,  Francis,  Bishop  of  Rochester  (1662-1732);  a  famous  Eng- 
lish divine.  He  figures  in  Thackeray's  Henry  Esmond,  Book  I,  Chapter  XIV. 
SO.  5. — Garth,  Sir  Samuel  (1661-1719) ;  an  English  physician  and  poet.  His 

best  known  poem  is  The  Dispensary  (1699). 
iO.         7.— Codrington,  Colonel  Christopher  (1668-1710);   general  of   King  William 

Ill's  and  friend  of  Garth's. 
10.         11. — Alcibiades  (450-404  B.  C.) ;  a  brilliant  Athenian  soldier  and  politician, 

who  was,  like  Bolingbroke,  exiled  from  his  native  city. 
>0.         12. — Oxford.     See  note  to  130,    15. 
iO.         18. — Jerxas,   Charles   (1675-1739)  ;    an  Irish  portrait  painter;  a  friend  of 

Pope's. 

SO.          19. — Richardson,  Jonathan  (1665-1745);  a  painter  friend  of  Pope's. 
SO.         23. —  Kneller,   Sir  Godfrey    (1646-1723)  ;    a  German  portrait  painter  who 

settled  in  London  and  became  well  known  in  England  and  France  as  a  court 

painter. 
j»3.          17. — The  famous  Greek  picture.     The  painting  by  the  Greek  artist,  Timan- 

thes  (c.  400  B.  C.),  representing   the  sacrifice  of   Iphigenia.     In  this  picture 

Agamemnon,  who  has  been  forced   by  the  oracle   to  sacrifice  his  daughter, 

is  shown  with  his  face  covered. 
4.         25. — Gibber,     Colley     (1671-1757);    an    English    actor,    dramatist,    and 

theatrical  manager;  he  was  made  poet-laureate  in  1730.     He  quarreled  with 

Pope,  who  made  him  the  hero  of  the  second  edition  of  the  Dunciad. 
15.          l5.—Tibbald.     Lewis   Theobald  —  pronounced    Tibbald  —  (1688  -  1744) ; 

famous  as  one  of  the  best  of  the  earlier  Shaksperian  commentators  and  editors. 

His  edition  of  Shakspere  appeared  in  1734  and  was  much  superior  to  Pope's 

edition  of  1725,  which  Theobald  had  severely  criticized.     This  criticism  Pope 

took  so  to  heart  that  he  quarreled  bitterly  with  Theobald  and  made  him  the 

hero  of  the  first  edition  of  the  Dunciad. 
»5.     15. — Welsted,  Leonard  (1688-1747);  a  minor  satirist  who  also  figures  in  the 

Dunciad. 

S5.         17. — Grub  Street.     See  note  to  69,    9. 
»5.         30. — Petty  France.     A  London  street  on  which  the  house  of  Milton  stood 

until  its  destruction  in  1877. 


260  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

155.  31. — Budge  Row.  On  the  north  side  of  the  Thames  running  east  and 
west  between  the  London  and  the  Southwark  bridges.  It  was  so  called  from 
its  being  filled  with  the  shops  of  the  makers  of  budge,  lamb-skin  prepared  to 
resemble  fur. 

157.  13. — As  Argus'  eyes,  by  Hermes'  wand  oppressed.  In  Greek  mythology 
Argus  was  a  demi-god  with  a  hundred  eyes,  who  was  charged  by  Hera  to  guard 
lo,  a  mistress  of  Zeus'.  Hermes  rescued  the  girl  by  putting  the  monster  to 
sleep  with  his  wand  and  then  slaying  it. 


HOGARTH,  SMOLLETT,  AND  FIELDING 

159.  15. — Jonathan  Wild  (1682?-1725) ;  a  famous  English  detective  and  late 
a  criminal,   who  was  executed  for  house-breaking.     The  hero  of  Fielding' 
History  of  Jonathan  Wild,  the  Great  (1743). 

160.  4. — "Goody  Two  Shoes."     A  popular  nursery  tale  which  appeared  in  1765 
and  is  supposed  to  have  been  written  by  Goldsmith. 

160.          12. — Dr.  Harrison.     A  character  in  Fielding's  novel,  Amelia  (1751). 
160.          21.— Jack  Sheppard  (1702-1724) ;  an  English  highwayman  and  jail-breaker 

who  was  hanged  at  Tyburn. 
160.          25. — "Rake's  Progress."    A  series  of  moral  pictures  by  Hogarth,  depicting 

the  downfall  of  a  rich  young  profligate. 

160.  29. — Draco.     A  Greek  legislator,  who  in  621  B.  C.  framed  the  first  Athe 
nian  code  of  laws;  they  were  so  severe  that  the  adjective  Draconian  has  come 
to  be  applied  to  all  unmerciful  legislation. 

161.  17.— William   the  Conqueror.     William   of   Normandy    (1027-1087),    who 
became  King  William  I  of  England  by  defeating  Harold  at  Hastings,  England 
in  1066. 

162.  6. — Andromeda.     In  Greek  mythology  the  daughter  of  Cepheus,  King  of 
the  Ethiopians.     She  was  chained  to  a  rock  as  a  sacrifice  to  a  sea-monster,  but 
was  rescued  by  the  hero  Perseus,  who  afterwards  married  her. 

162.  7. — Judith Holofernes.  Judith  was  the  heroine  of  the 

book  of  Judith  in  the  Apocrypha,  who  rescued  her  nation  by  beheading  Holo- 
fernes, King  of  the  Assyrians,  while  he  slept.  This  dramatic  tale  has  been  very 
popular  with  writers  and  painters. 

162.          19.— The  Rose.     See  note  to  107,    6. 

162.  29. — Tyburn.     See  note  to  96,    13. 

163.  12. — "Industry  and  Idleness."     A  series  of  plates  engraved  in  1747.    The 
story  of  the  good  apprentice  who  became  Lord  Mayor,  and  of  the  bad  appren- 
tice who  was  hanged  at  Tyburn  was  a  favorite  with  English  moralists  of  this 
and  of  earlier  times.     Note  the  tag-names  which   Hogarth   has  given  his 
characters. 

163.  16. — Whittington,  Sir  Richard  (1358?-1423) ;  he  began  life  as  a  poor  boy 
with  no  property  but  a  cat — so  the  story  goes — but  because  of  his  industrj 
and  virtue  he  was  three  times  elected  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  and  became 


NOTES  261 

accordingly,  the  Abraham  Lincoln  of  the  London  small  boy.  It  will  be  ob- 
served that  Hogarth's  "industrious  apprentice"  follows  Whittington's  ex- 
ample with  commendable  exactness. 
'63.  16. — The  "London  'Prentice"  is  a  didactic  ballad  which,  in  Plate  I  of  the* 
series,  the  "industrious  apprentice"  has  hanging  near  him  as  a  guide  to  a  suc- 
cessful career. 

163.  17. — Moll  Flanders.     A  popular  thief  and  adventuress  of  the  time  of 
Charles  II,  who  became  the  heroine  of  ballad  story,  and  who  figures  in  Defoe's 
novel,  Moll  Flanders  (1722).     Ballad  stories  of  her  deeds  helped  to  fill  out  the 
Diamond  Dick  literature  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

.63.  20. — "Half penny -under -the -hat."  A  game  of  chance;  probably  the  same 
as  hustle-cap,  a  game  in  which  small  coins  are  tossed  in  a  cap  or  hat. 

.63.  27. — Marrow-bones  and  cleavers.  The  music  produced  in  honor  of  the 
happy  young  couple  by  the  butchers'  apprentices  of  the  neighborhood. 

.64.          3. — Chuck-farthing.     A  game  like  "pitch-penny." 

164.  13. — The  Companies  of  London  march  in  the  august  procession.     On  the 
annual  Lord  Mayor's  Day  the  trade  guilds  of  London,  from  whose  member- 
ship the  magistrate  had  been  chosen,  marched  in  procession  to  the  guild  hall, 
dressed  in  full  livery,  each  company  drawing  the  pageant  or  float  emblematic 
of  its  trade. 

.64.          14. — Trainbands.     I.  e.  "trained  bands;"  the  drill  organizations  of  the 

city. 

.65.          1. — Marble  arch.     See  note  to  96,    13. 
.65.          4. — Tyburnia.     A  fashionable   quarter  of  West  London  lying  north    of 

Kensington  Gardens  and  Hyde  Park  on  the  site  of  the  old  place  of  execution. 

The  name  Tyburn  is  derived  from  the  two  burns  or  brooks  which  once  united 

near  this  place. 
.65.          17.— Dick  Turpin.     See  note  to  93,    23. 

165.  17. — Squire  Western.     A  character  in  Fielding's  Tom  Jones. 

165.  19. — Hercules  Pillars.     A  tavern;  the  original  Pillars  of  Hercules  are  two 
hills  on  opposite  sides  of  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar,  which  Hercules  is  raid  in 
Greek  legend  to  have  torn  apart. 

.65.  31. — Hogarth  drew  him.  A  pun  on  the  word.  English  criminals  were  at 
one  time  often  drawn  to  the  gallows  on  hurdles. 

166.  14. — Bridewell.     From  St.    Bride's  Well.     Originally  a  hospital  for  the 
poor  in  London;  later  a  house  of  correction.     Hogarth  has  drawn  a  picture  of 
the  place  in  Plate  IV  of  The  Harlot's  Progress  (1723). 

166.          18.— Walpole.     See  note  to  92,    25. 

66.  25. — Johnny  Cope.  Sir  John  Cope,  commander-in-chief  of  the  British 
forces  in  Scotland  in  the  Jacobite  uprising  of  1745,  was  surprised  by  the  Scotch 
under  the  Young  Pretender,  Charles  Edward  Stuart,  at  Preston  Pans,  Sep- 
tember 21,  1745,  and  forced  to  retreat.  His  retreat  gave  rise  to  the  Scottish 
popular  song  which  contains  the  derisive  line: 

"Hey,  Johnie  Cope,  are  ye  waukin  yet?" 
166.         25.—Culloden.     See  note  to  135,    19. 


262  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

166.  28. — Parson  Adams.  A  famous  character  in  Fielding's  novel,  Joseph 
Andrews  (1742). 

166.  29. — The  Salisbury  Fly.  The  coach  running  to  Salisbury  about  seventy- 
five  miles  southwest  of  London.  Hogarth  has  given  us  a  picture  of  it  in  his 
engraving  Night;  here  it  is  labelled  "The  Salisbury  Flying  Coach." 

166.  30. — Old  Angel.     The  name  given  the  tavern  in  Hogarth's  The  Country 
Inn-yard. 

167.  4. — He  may  have  ridden  the  leaders  to  Humphrey  Clinker.     I.  e.  he  may 
have  ridden  one  of  the  leading  horses  of  the  coach,  while  Humphrey  Clinker 
rode  one  of  the  rear  horses.      Humphrey  Clinker  is  a  character  in   Smollett's 
The  Expedition  of  Humphrey  Clinker  (1771),  who  began  his  career  as  a  ragged 
postilion. 

167.         6. — Jack  of  the  Centurion.     The  sailor  from  the  Centurion  who  appears 

on  top  of  the  stage-coach  in  Hogarth's  The  Country  Inn-  Yard. 
167.          8. — Jack  Hatchway.     A  naval  officer  in  Smollett's  Peregrine  Pickle. 
167.          9. — Lismahago.     A  Scotch  naval  officer  in  Smollett's  Humphrey  Clinker. 

Both  "it's"  in  this  sentence  refer,  of  course,  to  Jack  of  the  Centurion. 
167.          15. — Black-legs.     Professional  swindlers  and  cheats. 
167.          16. — Garrick,  David   (1717-1779);  a  celebrated  English  tragedian,  famous 

for  his  acting  of  characters  from   Shakspere.     His  favorite  role  was  King 

Richard  III. 

167.          l7.—Macheath  and  Polly.     See  notes  to  39,    31  and  137,    4. 
167.          22. — Calais  Gate.     Calais,  on  the  north  coast  of  France,  was  for  centuries 

a  bone  of  contention  between  France  and  England.     In  Hogarth's  time  it 

was  in  the  hands  of  the  French. 
167.          23. — Roderick  Random.     The  hero  of  Smollett's  Roderick  Random  (1748). 

Monsieur  de  Strap  was  his  devoted  follower. 
167.          25. — Dettingen.     See  note  to  135,    19. 
167.          2S.—Broughton  the  Boxer  (1705-1789);  the  first  great  English  boxer,  who 

conducted  a  boxing  school  and  was  a  favorite  in  eighteenth  century  polite 

society.     He  appears  in  Hogarth's  picture,  March  to  Finchley. 
167.          28. — Sarah  Malcolm  was  executed  in  1733  for  three  murders.     Hogarth 

painted  her  in  Newgate. 
167.          29. — Simon  Lovat  the  traitor.     Simon  Fraser,   Lord   Lovat    (1726-1782); 

a  Highland  chief  who  supported  the  Young  Pretender,  but  afterwards  being 

pardoned,  entered  the  government  service.     He  was  a  great  friend  of  Hogarth's, 

who  painted  an  excellent  portrait  of  him. 

167.  29. — John   Wilkes   (1727-1797);  a  popular  English  agitator  who  attacked 
the  government  in  his  periodical,   The  North  Briton;    in  the  famous  No.  45 
(published  April  23,  1763)  he  criticized  the  king's  message  to  Parliament  and 
as  a  result  was  imprisoned.     He  was  so  popular  that  after  having  been  expelled 
from  Parliament,  he  was  repeatedly  returned  to  the  House  of  Commons  and 
was  elected  Lord  Mayor  of  London. 

168.  7.— Queen  Caroline.   (1683-1737)     Wife  of  George  II  of  England.     She 
is  a  prominent  character  in  Scott's  Heart  of  Midlothian. 

168.          21.— Wooden  shoes.     See  note  to  50,    4. 


NOTES  263 

168.         26. — Correggio  (1494-1534).     A  great  Italian  painter,  famous  for  the  color 
and  harmony  of  his  work. 

168.  26. — The    Caracci.     Agostino    Caracci     (1558-1602),    Annibale    Caracci 
(1560-1609),   and  Ludoyico  Caracci  (1555-1619)  were  noted  Italian  painters 
and  engravers.     The  first  two  were  brothers;  the  last,  a  cousin. 

169.  5. — Handel,   George  Frederick   (1685-1759);    a  noted  German    musician 
and  composer  who  spent  some  years  in  England.     He  had  a  rival,  now  almost 
forgotten,  in  the  Italian  composer,   Bononcini,  and  the  following  lines  were 
written  about  their  contending  claims;  the  last  two  are  sometimes  attributed 
to  Swift: 

"Some  say,  compared  to  Bononcini, 
That  Mynheer  Handel's  but  a  ninny; 
Others  aver  that  he  to  Handel 
Is  scarcely  fit  to  hold  a  candle. 
Strange  all  this  difference  should  be 
'Twixt  Tweedledum  and  Tweedledee." 

169.         16. — Listen,  John  (1776?  -1846) ;  a  celebrated  comic  actor,  who  was,  how- 
ever, but  a  mediocre  tragedian. 

169.  22.— Churchill,   Charles   (1731-1764);    a  minor  poet  and    friend  of  John 
Wilkes';  he  mingled  in  the  political  controversies  of  which  his  friend  was  the 
centre  and  barely  escaped   imprisonment  for  his  participation  in  the  printing 
of  No.  45  of  The  North  Briton. 

170.  20.— Mr.    Pickwick.      The    immortal    leader    of   the    Pickwick   Club   in 
Dickens's  Pickwick  Papers  (1836-7) . 

170.         22. — Gravesend.     A  popular  resort  on  the  Thames  about  twenty  miles 
east  of  London.     Rochester  and  Sheerness  are  ports  at  the  mouth  of  the  Thames. 

170.  30. — Billingsgate.     See  note  to  75,    4. 

171.  1. — "Caracatura."     A  caricature  or  burlesque  drawing. 

171.  13. — Hop-scotch.     A  game  still  popular  in  most  parts  of  America.     It  is 
played  by  the  participants'  hopping  on  one  foot  and  kicking  a  small  stone  or 
block  of  wood  from  the  various  compartments  of  a  rectangular  figure  drawn 
on  the  ground. 

172.  24. — The  great  Scotch  novelist.     Sir  Walter  Scott. 

173.  17. — Mr.  Morgan.     A  surgeon  in  Roderick  Random. 

173.          18. — Dr.    Caius.     A    comical    French    physician    in    Shakspere's    Merry 

Wives  of  Windsor. 

173.          20. — Major  Dalgetty.     A  brave  officer  in  Scott's  Legend  of  Montrose. 
173.          25. — Winifred   Jenkins   and    Tabitha    Bramble.     Characters  in  Smollett's 

Humphrey  Clinker. 

173.  29. — Bladud's  Well.     Bladud  was  a  legendary  king  of  England,  father 
of  King  Lear,  who  founded  the  city  of  Bath  and  dedicated  the  hot  springs 
there  to  the  goddess  Minerva. 

174.  5. — Tom  Jones.     The  hero  of  Fielding's  novel,  Tom  Jones  (1749) . 

174.         6. — Captain    Booth.     A   leading   character   in    Fielding's   novel,    Amelia 
(1751). 


264  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

175.         2S.—Oldfields.     Anne    Oldfield    (1683-1730);    a    popular    and    successful 

English  actress. 
175.          26. — Brace  girdles.     See  note  to  69,    15. 

177.  30.— "Pamela."     The  first  of  Samuel  Richardson's  novels  (1740) . 

178.  11.— Bohea.     Black  tea. 

178.  13. — Mohock.  Usually  spelled  Mohawk;  the  name  given  to  a  member  of 
the  band  of  lawless  young  men  who  in  the  early  eighteenth  century  committed 
depredations  at  night  in  the  streets  of  London. 

178.  14. — The    ladies    of   his    court.      The    openly   sentimental    and    frankly 
didactic  moral  tone  of  Richardson's  novels  made  him  immensely  popular  with 
women. 

179.  4. — Johnson  would  not  sit  down  with  him.     According   to    Boswell   Dr. 
Johnson  called   Fielding  "a  barren  rascal,"  and  remarked  that  "there  is  more 
knowledge  of  the  heart  in  one  letter  of  Richardson's,  than  in  all  Tom  Jones." 

179.  7. — Gibbon,  Edward  (1737-1794);  a  celebrated  English  historian;  author 
of  The  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  (1772 — ).  His  panegyric  of 
Fielding  occurs  in  his  Miscellaneous  Works  I,  4. 

179.  15. — Escurial.  The  royal  residence  and  mausoleum  of  the  Spanish  kings, 
built  in  the  sixteenth  century  by  Philip  II. 

179.  29. — Charles  Lamb    (1775-1834).     English  essayist;  author  of  Essays  of 
Elia. 

180.  1. — Blifil     ....     Lady  Bellaston Sophia     .... 

Parson  Thwackum      .     .     .     Miss  Seagrim.       Characters   in  Tom  Jones. 

180.  30. — Charles  and  Joseph  Surface.  Characters  in  Sheridan's  comedy,  The 
School  for  Scandal. 

182.          10. — Colonel  Bath.     A  character  in  Fielding's  Amelia. 

182.  11. — Colonel  Gardiner  (1688-1745);  a  brave  English  officer,  who  was 
wounded  at  Ramillies  and  Icilled  after  a  gallant  fight  at  the  battle  of  Preston 
Pans  in  Scotland. 

182.          11.— Duke  of  Cumberland.     See  note  to  135,    17. 

182.  29. — Coup  de  main.  Literally  "a  blow  of  the  hand;"  hence,  any  unex- 
pected and  surprising  move. 


STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH 

185.  23. — Mullingar.  In  the  county  of  West  Meath  in  the  center  of  Ireland, 
about  fifty  miles  northwest  of  Dublin. 

185.  25. — Carrickfergus.     An  Irish  sea-port  a  few  miles  north  of  Belfast. 

186.  2. — Elvington.     A  village  in  Yorkshire,  England. 

186.  7. — Trim  .  .  .  Le  Feme  ....  Uncle  Toby.  Characters  in 
Tristram  Shandy.  A  montero  is  a  huntsman's  cap  with  wide  flaps;  a  roque- 
laure  is  a  short  cloak. 

186.          11. — Ramillies     ....     Malplaquet.     See  note  to  95,    10. 

186.          25. — Sutton.     A  village  a  few  miles  north  of  York. 

186.         26. — Stillington.     A  parish  next  to  Sutton. 


NOTES  265 

I  188.          5. — Sum  mortaliter  in  amore.     "I  am  'dead  in  love'." 
188.          10. — Arroser.     To  besprinkle. 

j  188.          14. — Shandean.      (Three  syllables) ;  an  allusion  to  Tristram  Shandy. 
1 188.          15. —  Yorick.     A  character  in  Tristram  Shandy;  the  name  under  which 
Sterne  wrote  the  Sentimental  Journey.     He  makes  use  of  the  name  in  the  letter 
which  follows.     For  its  origin  see  Hamlet  V,  1. 

188.  17. — Rabelais,  Francois  (1483?  -1553);  a  French  satirist  whose  writings 
are  characterized  by  grotesqueness  and  coarse  humor.  He  was  for  a  time  cure 
of  Meudon,  a  small  town  near  Paris.  Both  Swift  and  Sterne  have  for  their 
coarseness  been  styled  "The  English  Rabelais." 

188.  28.— Lord  Bathurst.  Allen  Apsley,  Earl  of  Bathurst  (1684-1775) ;  a  Tory 
opponent  of  Wai  pole's  and  a  patron  of  literary  men. 

190.  15. — India-man.     A  ship  plying  between  England  and  India. 
1 190.          16. — Deal.     A  sea-port  iri  Kent,  England. 

i  191.  6. — Scarron  his  Maintenon.  Paul  Scarron  (1610-1660),  a  French  writer  of 
humorous  and  satiric  burlesque  poems,  married  Francoise  D'Aubigcie  (1635- 
1719)  in  1652.  After  his  death  his  widow,  known  then  as  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon,  became  a  member  of  the  royal  household  of  Louis  XIV,  over  whom  she 
exercised  an  almost  boundless  influence,  and  whom  she  at  length  secretly 
married. 

191.  7.— Waller  his  Saccharissa.     Edmund  Waller   (1605-1687) ;  a  lyric  poet 
who  was  very  popular  in  his  own  day;  he  was  a  favorite  of  Oliver  Cromwell's. 
Saccharissa  was  the  name  which  Waller  applied  to  Lady  Dorothy   Sydney, 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  in  poems  which  he  addressed  to  her. 

191.         15. — Lady  P .     Lady  Percy,  daughter  of  Lord  Bute. 

191.  28. — "Sentimental  Journey."     A  Sentimental  Journey  through  France  and 
Italy  \  written  in  1768  after  a  visit  to  those  countries. 

192.  2. — Pluto.     In  classical  mythology  the  ruler  of  Hades,  the  infernal  regions. 
192.          31. — Des  chansons  grivoises.     Jolly  songs. 

194.         6. — Desobligeante.     Disobliging.     The  carriage  is  so  called  because  there 

is  in  it  room  only  for  one. 

194.          16. — Le  tour  est  fait.     The  feat  is  accomplished. 
194.          16. — Paillasse.     Stock  name  for  a  clown. 

194.  29. — Franciscan.     A  member  of  an  order  of  mendicant  friars  named  for 
their  founder,  St.  Francis  of  Assisi. 

195.  4. — Monsieur  de  Soubise.     Charles  de  Rohan,  Prince  de  Soubise  (1715- 
1787) ;  a  French  general  and  courtier  who  was  defeated  November  5,  1757,  at 
Rossbach.     He  insisted,  even  while  on  the  march,  upon  having  within  his. 
camp  every  luxury  possible. 

197.  34. — "Viva  la  joia,  fidon  la  tristessa."     "Long  live  joy;  away  with  sorrow."" 

198.  14. — Double  entendre.     Double  meaning;  with  reference  to  a  statement 
which  is  apparently  innocent,  but  which  contains  an  indecent  suggestion. 

198.          16. — Satyr.     In  Greek  mythology  demi-gods,   half  man  and   half  goat, 

who  attended  Bacchus. 
198.         22. — "David  Copperfield."      Charles  Dickens's  greatest  novel,  written  in 

1849-50. 


266  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 


198.  23. — "Jete  sur  cette  boule,"  etc.     A  rough  translation  of  the  poem  follows: 

Hurled  upon  this  globe, 

Puny,  wretched,  suffering; 

Smothered  in  the  throng, 

Because  I  was  so  small; 

A  touching  plaint 

Sprang  to  my  lips. 

The  good  God  said  to  me:     "Sing, 

Sing,  poor  little  creature." 

To  sing  then — unless  I  deceive  myself — 

Is  my  task  here  below. 

Will  not  all  whom  I  entertain 

Love  me  for  the  songs? 
The  following  translation  by  Thackeray   himself  was  found   among   his  papers 
many  years  after  his  death  by  his  daughter,  Lady  Ritchie.       It  was    first 
published  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  for  August,  1910,  and  is  here  reproduced 
by  the  kind  permission  of  the  editor : 

A  CASTAWAY 

A  castaway  on  this  great  earth 
A  sickly  child  of  humble  birth 

And  homely  feature 
Before  me  rushed  the  swift  and  strong 
I  thought  to  perish  in  the  throng 

Poor  puny  creature. 

Then  crying  in  my  loneliness 

I  prayed  that  Heaven  in  my  distress 

Some  aid  would  bring 
And  pitying  my  misery 
My  guardian  angel  said  he 

Sing  poet  sing  ! 

Since  then  my  grief  is  not  so  sharp 
I  know  my  lot  and  tune  my  harp 

And  chant  my  ditty, 
And  kindly  voices  cheer  the  bard 
And  gentle  hearts  his  song  reward 

With  love  and  pity. 

199.  5. — Beranger,  Pierre  Jean  de  (1780-1857) ;  a  popular  French  lyric  poet. 
199.          20. — Auburn.    The  name  which  Goldsmith  uses  in  his  poem,  The  Deserted 

Village  (1770),  for  Lissoy,  Westmeath  county,  Ireland. 

199.  20.— Wakefield.  The  scene  of  Goldsmith's  novel,  The  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field  (1766).  The  town  is  in  southern  Yorkshire. 

2>00.  13. — Doctor  Primrose.  The  good  clergyman,  the  hero  of  The  Vicar  of 
Wakefield. 


NOTES  267 

201.  18. — Hedge-schoolmaster.  "Hedge-school:  A  school  kept  in  a  hedge- 
corner  or  in  the  open  air,  as  formerly  in  Ireland."  (Standard  Diet.) . 

201.  19. — Elphin.  A  town  in  Roscommon  county,  Province  of  Connaught, 
Ireland. 

201.  26. — Noll.  An  abbreviation  for  Oliver.  Oliver  Cromwell  was  frequently 
alluded  to  as  "Old  Noll." 

201.  30. — "Mistake  of  a  Night."  The  original  title  of  Goldsmith's  famous  comedy 
She  Stoops  to  Conquer  (1774) ,  which  was  based  on  this  incident  in  his  career. 

202.  1. — Ardagh.     Town  in  Longford  County,  Ireland. 

202.  9. — AZsop.     A  Greek  writer  of  fables,  who  lived  in  the  sixth  century  B.  C. 
According  to  tradition  he  was  deformed  and  ugly. 

203.  4. — Sizar.     At  Cambridge  University,  and  at  Trinity  College,   Dublin, 
a  poor  student  who  pays  nothing  for  food,  lodging,  and  tuition.    Formerly  he 
was  required  to  perform  menial  services  in  return  for  what  was  given  him;  at 
present,  however,  the  position  of  sizar  corresponds  more  nearly  to  that  of 
scholar  in  an  American  university. 

203.  15. — The  young  prodigal  came  home,  etc.  Read  the  parable  of  the  Prodigal 
Son  in  Luke  XV,  11-32. 

203.  24. — Woolsack.     The  cushion  on  which  the  Lord   Chancellor  sits  while 
acting  as  oresiding  officer  of  the  House  of  Lords;  here,  accordingly,  the  highest 
office  which  young  Goldsmith,  as  a  law-student,  could  dream  of  securing. 

204.  1. — Farheim,  Du  Petit.     Famous   Parisian   physicians  of   the  time.      Du 
Monceau      A  Parisian  botanist. 

204.          9. — Ballymahon.     A  town  in  Longford  county,  Ireland. 
204.          18. — "But  me  not  destined"  etc.    From  Goldsmith's  The  Traveller  (1764), 
11.  23-31. 

204.  26. — /  spoke  in  a  former  lecture,  etc.     See  p.  183,  11.  21  ff. 

205.  19.— Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  (1723-1792).     The  most  celebrated  of  English 
portrait  painters  and  one  of  the  most  popular  Englishmen  of  his  day. 

206.  7. — Beattie,  James  (1735-1803) ;   a  Scotch  poet   and    philosopher  who  was 
a  favome  of  George  Ill's. 

206.  9.—  Kelly,  Hugh  (1739-1777);  a  writer  of  weakly  sentimental  comedies. 
His  play,  False  Delicacy  (1768),  was  once  very  popular.  He  and  Goldsmith 
regarded  each  other  as  rivals. 

206.  13. — Newbery  kept  back  the  manuscript.  Although  Goldsmith's  Vicar  of 
Wakefield  was  submitted  to  Francis  Newbery,  the  publisher,  in  1764,  it  was 
withheld  from  publication  until  The  Traveller  had  established  Goldsmith's 
reputation.  The  book  finally  appeared  March  27,  1766. 

206.  16. — Colman's  actors  declined  their  parts  in  his  delightful  comedy.  When 
Goldsmith's  famous  comedy,  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  was  first  offered  to  the 
prominent  theatrical  manager,  George  Colman  (1732-1794),  his  hesitancy  in 
accepting  the  play  was  increased  by  the  fear  among  his  actors  that  the  comedy 
would  be  a  failure.  He  finally  yielded,  however,  to  the  entreaties  of  Dr.  John- 
son, and  produced  the  play  at  Covent  Garden,  March  15,  1773.  It  was  im- 
mediately successful. 


268  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

206.  21.— Burke,  Edmund  (1729-1797);  a  famous  statesman,  celebrated  for 
his  opposition  to  George  Ill's  policy  in  dealing  with  the  American  colonies. 

206.  21.—  Fox,    Charles  James    (1749-1805);    one  of    the   most    celebrated  of 
English  statesmen;  leader  of  the  Whig  party,  and  one  of  the  most  popular  men 
of  his  time. 

207.  9. — Griffiths.     This  letter  may  be  found    in   Forster's  Life  of  Goldsmith, 
p.  102. 

208.  1. — Who  has  touched  on  almost  every  subject   of  literature,  etc.      Quoted 
from  Goldsmith's  epitaph;  see  note  to  213,    6. 

209.  15. — "Here  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds,"  etc.     From  The  Deserted  Village, 
11.  77-112. 

210.  26. — Utopia.     The  ideal   commonwealth   created   by   Sir   Thomas   More 
(1478-1535)  in  his  poem  of  the  same  name. 

210.  27. —  Yvetot.     A  small  town  in  Normandy,  about  which  Beranger  wrote  a 
famous  ballad,  Le  Roi  d'    Yvetot.     The  first  stanza  of  Thackeray's  imitation 
reads  as  follows: 

There  was  a  king  of  Yvetot, 

Of  whom  renown  hath  little  said, 
Who  let  all  thoughts  of  glory  go, 

And  dawdled  half  his  days  abed; 
And  every  night,  as  night  came  round 

By  Jenny  with  a  night-cap  crowned, 

Slept  very  sound: 
Sing  ho,  ho,  ho,  and  he,  he,  he, 
That's  the  kind  of  king  for  me. 

211.  3.  Ranelagh.     A  place  of  amusement  in  Chelsea  on  the  north  bank  of  the 
Thames.     These  gardens,  which  were  opened  in  1742,  were  frequented  by  the 
fast  set  of  London,  and  were  finally  closed  in  1803  because  of  the  character  of 
the  public  entertainments  given  there. 

211.  3. — The  Pantheon.  A  fashionable  place  of  amusement  erected  on  Oxford 
Street,  London,  in  1772,  and  famous  long  after  its  destruction  by  fire  in  1792. 
It  was  named  after  the  much  more  famous  building  in  Rome. 

211.  4. — Madame  Cornelys.  A  popular  manager  cf  public  balls  and  other 
assemblies  in  London.  Her  house  in  Soho  Square  was  for  years  a  fashionable 
evening  resort. 

211.  5. — The  Jessamy  Bride Mary  Horneck.  The  Jessamy 

Bride  was  the  playful  name  which  Goldsmith  gave  to  Mary  Horneck,  the 
younger  daughter  of  an  officer's  widow,  whom  he  greatly  admired.  She 
married  a  certain  Mr.  Gwyn  and  died  in  1840.  Her  older  sister,  Catherine, 
whom  the  poet  called  Little  Comedy,  was  married  in  1771  to  the  celebrated 
caricaturist,  Henry  William  Bunbury. 

211.  10.—  Gilray.  James  Gillray  (1757-1815)— Thackeray  has  misspelled  the 
name — was  a  celebrated  caricaturist  who  was  very  popular  with  his  contem- 
poraries in  spite  of  the  sharpness  of  his  satire. 


NOTES  269 

211.  22. — Hazlitt,  William  (1778-1830);  an  English  critic,  best  known  by  his 
essays  on  Shakspere. 

211.  23—Northcote,  James  (1746-1831);  a  well-known  English  portrait- 
painter. 

211.  25. — The  younger   Colman.     George    Colman   the   Younger    (1762-1836) 
was  the  son  of  the  theatrical  manager  who  first  produced  Goldsmith's  comedy, 
She  Stoops  to  Conquer  (see  note  to  206,    16) .     He  wrote  a  memoir  of  his  own 
life  in  Random  Records  (1831) ;  this  is  the  source  of  Thackeray's  quotation. 

212.  27. — "I  plucked  his  gown  to  share  the  good  man's  smile."     The  Deserted 
Village  1.  184;  the  "good  man"  is  the  village  pastor. 

213.  6.— The  righteous  pen  that  wrote  his  epitaph.     On  Goldsmith's  monument 
in  Westminster  Abbey  is  gin  epitaph  written  by  Doctor  Samuel  Johnson  which 
contains  the  following  famous  line:     "Qui  nullum  fere  scribendi  genus  non 
tetigit,  nullum  quod  tetigit  non  ornavit," — "Who   left  untouched  no  form  of 
writing,  nor  touched  any  that  he  did  not  adorn." 

214.  7. — He  cannot  come  to  London,  etc.     A  direct  allusion,  of  course,  to  Gold- 
smith.    Seep.  203, 11.21-27. 

215.  6.— The  Taller.     Steele. 

215.  6. — The  Citizen  of  the  World.  The  pen-name  used  by  Goldsmith  in  the 
Letters  from  a  Chinese  Merchant  residing  in  London  to  his  friends  in  the  East 
(1762). 

215.  29.— Bon  jour.     Good  day. 

216.  4. — Grand  homme  incompris.     Great  man  not  understood. 

CHARITY  AND  HUMOR 

"Thackeray  has  himself  put  on  record  the  originating  source  of  his  lecture 
on  Charity  and  Humor,  about  this  time,  when  we  returned  once  more  to  New 
York.  Some  friends  wished  to  benefit  a  "Ladies'  Society  for  the  Employment 
and  Relief  of  the  Poor,"  and  he  volunteered  to  write  a  new  discourse  to  be 
delivered  for  that  purpose. 

"He  took  a  whole  day  for  the  task,  lying  down  in  his  favorite  recumbent 
position  in  bed,  smoking,  whilst  dictating  fluently  the  phrases  as  they  came.  I 
took  them  down,  with  little  or  no  intermission  from  breakfast-time  till  late  in 
the  dusk  of  evening.  The  dinner-gong  sounded,  and  the  manuscript  was  then 

completed 

.  .  .  .  The  charge  of  self-repetition,  made  heedlessly  against  it,  was 
scarcely  avoidable  in  the  first  part,  which  is  a  recapitulation  of  the  "Humor- 
ists' "  drift  of  purpose.  These  eighteenth  century  wits  are  passed  in  review 
in  the  first  half,  as  a  foil  to  their  subsequent  comparison  with  the  modern  forms 
of  "Humor"  and  "Charity"  to  be  found  in  the  works  of  contemporaries,  and 
to  whom  a  noble  tribute  of  respectful  admiration  is  paid  so  touchingly.  Doubt- 
less the  incentive  of  a  benevolent  motive  was  inspiring  to  the  author. 

"The  lecture  was  first  given  a  day  or  two  after,  on  the  31st  of  January,  at 
the  Church  of  the  Messiah,  in  Broadway,  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 


270  ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

The  charge  for  each  ticket  was  one  dollar,  and  the  net  result  was  about  twelve 
hundred  dollars.  The  ladies  expressed  their  gratification  at  this  wind/all." 
— With  Thackeray  in  America  by  Eyre  Crowe,  Thackeray's  secretary. 

217.  18. — Week-day  preachers.     Thackeray  has  also  used  this  phrase  in  the 
lecture  on  Swift  (p.  36,  1.  10.) 

218.  15.— Hood,  Thomas  (1798-1845) ;  an  English  poet  and  humorist. 
218.          25. — Tartuffe.     A  religious  hypocrite  in  Moliere's  drama,  Tartuffe. 
218.         25.— Joseph  Surj 'ace.     See  note  to  180,    30. 

218.          25. — Stiggins.     A  hypocritical   parson  in   Dickens's  Pickwick   Papers. 

218.  26. — Chadband.     A  bland,  oily  clergyman  in  Dickens's  Bleak  House. 

219.  2. — Pharisee.     A  member  of  an  ancient  Jewish  sect  who  paid  such  strict 
attention  to  the  form  of  their  worship  that  theiraiame  has  come  to  be  applied 
to  all  hypocritical,  ostentatious  worshippers. 

221.          23. — The  carriage  in  Monsieur  Dessein's  court-yard     .     ...     the  dead 
donkey.     See  Thackeray's  sixth  lecture,  p.  194,  11.  5ff. 

221.  25. — Shandrydan.     A  crude,  ramshackle  cart. 

222.  4.— Le  Feme Uncle  Toby.     See  note  to  186,    7. 

222.          14. — He  chisels  his  savage  indignation  on  his  tomb-stone.     See  note  to  51,  25. 

222.  28. — Lady  Masham  (1670-1734) ;  a  court  lady  who  was  a  favorite  of  Queen 
Anne's. 

223.  4. — Tisdall,  William  (1669-1735);   an  English   controversialist  and   early 
friend  of  Swift's.     He  incurred  the  Dean's  hatred  when,  in  1704,  he  announced 
his  intention  of  becoming  a  suitor  for  the  hand  of  Stella  (Hester  Johnson) . 

223.          15. — Money which    he   left   to    his  friend   the    Duchess    of 

Marlborough.     See  p.  69,  11.  21  ff.      • 
223.          20. — Euclid.     An    Alexandrian    geometer    who    flourished    in    the    third 

century  B.  C.,  and  has  left  his  name  to  the  system  of  geometry  which  he 

devised. 

223.  23. — Flic-flac.     "A  kind  of  step  in  dancing."      (New  English  Diet.). 

224.  5. — Monsieur  Pirouette.     Thackeray's  name  for  the  dancing-master  men- 
tioned on  the  preceding  page. 

224.         10.— Epicureans.     See  note  to  44,    7. 

224.  12. — Anacreon  (563?  -478  ?  B.  C.).     A  Greek  lyric  poet  famous  for  his 
poems  of  wine  and  love. 

225.  19. — Pall-Mali.      (Pronounced  pell-mell) .     A  fashionable  street  in  London. 

225.  24.— Sir  Roger  de  Coverley.     See  note  to  89,  13. 

226.  15. — Hidalgo  Don  Quixote.     Hidalgo  is  a  Spanish  title  of  nobility,  equiva- 
lent substantially  to  the  English  title  of  Lord.     For  Don   Quixote  set  note 
to  133.    31. 

226.  20. — Mr.   Spectator,   with   his  short  face.     Addison,   who  contributed   to 
the  Spectator.     In  the  first  of  these  papers  the   Spectator   describes  himself 
as  "a  short-faced  gentleman." 

227.  4. — Foundling  Hospital Captain  Cor  am.     Thomas  Coram 

(1668?  -1751)  was  an  explorer  and  philanthropist  whose  sympathy  for  aban- 
doned children  led  to  his  securing  in  1 742  subscriptions  for  a  foundling  hospital 
in  London.     Hogarth  was  among  the  subscribers. 


NOTES  271 

227.  16. — Cothurnus.  A  boot  with  a  thick  sole,  which  was  worn  on  the  stage  by 
the  actors  in  Greek  tragedy;  hence  the  word  has  come  to  stand  for  formal 
tragedy. 

227.  27. — Comedy  of  the  Restoration.     See  p.  69  ff.,  and  note  to  69,    26. 

228.  12.— "Gulliver."     See  note  to  37,    13. 

228.  13. — "Jonathan  Wild."     See  note  to  159,    15. 

228.  21. — "Tom  Jones."     See  note  to  174,    5. 

228.  22.— Doctor  Harrison.     See  note  to  160,    12. 

228.  22. — Parson  Adams Joseph  Andrews.     See  note  to  166,  28. 

228.  29—Blijil Sophia.     See  note  to  180,    1. 

229.  10. — Olivia Moses.     Children  of  Dr.  Primrose,  in  Gold- 
smith's novel,  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield. 

229.          24. — Beranger.     See  note  to  199,    5. 

229.  28. — Burns,  Robert  (1759-1796) ;  the  national  poet  of  Scotland. 

230.  23. — Fons  lachrymarum.     The  fountain  of  tears. 

231.  17. — Brighton.     A    popular    English    sea-side    resort,    forty-seven    miles 
south  of  London. 

232.  11. — Berlin  cotton  gloves.     A  knit  cotton  glove  manufactured  in  Berlin. 
232.         14. — Fanny  Forester.     A  stock  name  for  a  melodramatic  heroine. 

232.  15. — Tom  Bowling. — A  stock  name  for  a  sailor. 

233.  7. — Mr.  Punch.     See  note  to  56,  6,  and  Introduction,  p.  15. 

233.          13. — Jerrold,  Douglas  (1803-1857) ;  an  English  dramatist  and  humorist. 

233.  16. — "Vanity  Fair."     One  of  Thackeray's  most  famous  novels;  published 
in  1847-8.     This  entire  passage  illustrates  Thackeray's  habit  of  stepping  out 
of  his  shoes  and  criticizing  himself  and  his  works  as  though  he  were  not  the 
author  of  them. 

234.  23. — The  charities  of  Mr.  Dickens.    Read  Dickens's  letter  to  Thackeray  in 
response  to  this  generous  tribute, — Introduction,  p.  22. 

235.  20. — Two  that  do.     A  reference,  of  course,  to  Thackeray's  two  daughters. 

236.  7. — When     ....     "Nicholas  Nickleby"  came  out.     Dickens's  novel, 
Nicholas  Nickleby, -was  published  serially  between  April,  1838  and  October,  1839. 
A  considerable  part  of  the  book  is  given  up  to  an  attack  upon  the  cheap  schools 
of  Yorkshire,  of  which  "Dotheboys  Hall"  was  a  type. 

236.  19. — Squeers.  The  brutal  and  ignorant  proprietor  of  "Dotheboys  Hall" 
in  Nicholas  Nickleby. 

236.  24. — Crummies the  Phenomenon.     Characters  in 

Nicholas  Nickleby. 

237.  1. — Marchioness      ....       Mr.     Richard    Swiveller.     Characters    in 
Dickens's  Old  Curiosity  Shop. 

237.  2. — Oliver  Twist the  artful  Dodger.  Characters  in  Dick- 
ens's Oliver  Twist. 

237.  6. — Sairey  Gamp.  An  ignorant  nurse  in  Dickens's  Martin  Chuzzlewit,  who 
is  constantly  backing  up  her  own  opinions  by  references  to  an  imaginary 
Mrs.  Harris. 

237.         10. — Micawber.     An  eccentric  character  in  Dickens's  David  Copperfield. 


14  DAY  USE 

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